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heartthrobin · 5 months ago

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the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle.

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports.

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge.

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner.

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers.

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor.

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed.

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish.

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster.

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge.

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you.

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone.

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move.

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face.

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches.

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.”

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again.

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.”

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor.

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick.

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.”

He’s brushing past you.

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded.

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable.

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?”

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked.

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him.

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration.

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him.

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.”

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle.

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own.

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.”

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness.

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms.

It’s quiet.

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks.

“Why’re you out here alone?”

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him.

Why do you care?

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters.

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.”

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t.

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches.

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something.

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent.

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room.

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.”

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours.

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!”

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch.

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow.

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction.

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way.

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it.

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets.

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

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azrielsshadows42 · 26 days ago

Text

Azriel SFW alphabet

This has been sitting incomplete in my drafts since March so... idk.

Warnings: I don't think there is any other than some self-deprecating, correct me if I'm wrong, unedited

A = Affectionate (how affectionate is he)

Now let's get this straight, this male LOVES you with every fibre of his body and soul, if you need affection he is there in seconds, he is super observant, so you don't even have to ask, he has at least one small shadow that follows you around to make sure you are alright. Whether you just need to hold his hand or you need him to hold you through the night, he has no problems fulfilling your requirements.

When he needs affection however... is another story, he will almost never ask for it, he doesn't want to bother you, and no matter how many times you tell him it's not a bother he will always feel like he is being a burden to you. You will need to learn how to read him better than anyone because he will not make it easy for you.

B = Best friend (what would he be like as a best friend, how does the friendship start?)

He would be an amazing best friend, always knows when you are feeling down and how to cheer you up, it takes a while but once you are close enough the friendly teasing is hilarious. you would definitely have some inside jokes just between the two of you.

At first it would be him only interacting with you when necessary, he will be as polite as possible cause he doesn't want you to be scared of him but he also doesn't really want to spend a lot of time with you 1) Because he has trust issues and is wary of you, it is kind of his job and 2) Because he doesn't want to corrupt you.

C = Cuddles (does he like to cuddle; how does he cuddle?)

Azriel will completely deny it if anyone asks him but... he actually really likes cuddles, this man is so touch starved he NEEDS skin to skin contact. He is perfectly content to just lay with you in the evenings after dinner, admiring your beauty. And while he trains extremely diligently, he secretly loves when he has a good reason not to train so he can wake up next to and actually have a proper breakfast together instead of just leaving a note with promises to see you later.

Once again will adamantly deny it if asked but his favourite way to cuddle is spooning, he likes to be the big spoon, he loves having his arms wrapped around you along with his wings for extra warmth because he knows you love it, just for that extra reassurance that you are safe and haven't disappeared. He could be convinced to be little spoon for a night if you really wanted it, but it would take some pleading.

D = Domestic (Does he want to settle down, how good is he at cooking and cleaning?)

So, I feel like Azriel would absolutely love the idea of settling down, in concept but would be really scared to do so, not because he's unsure of his feelings for you, no not at all, he loves you wholeheartedly sometimes a bit too much he'd be scared because he thinks you might change your mind. That he isn't good enough or he'll taint your innocence what innocence? It will definitely be a few years, maybe even decades before he is certain you won't leave him for someone "better". And even then, he will need reassurance.

Now when it comes to cleaning, this man is over the top, everything is immaculate, there is not a speck of dust to be found.... ever.

But you see with cooking... I don't know, I feel like it could go both ways, he's either stupidly good at it like, bro??? Where did you learn this? Truly Gordon Ramsey level cuisine. Or... he doesn't know what he's doing, at all. He'll try, he will most definitely try to have you come back to a lovely home cooked meal whenever he has the chance to but... it doesn't always ever come out the way he intends it to. But it's the thought that counts and you really can see the effort he put into it.

E = Ending (if he had to break up with you, how would he do it)

There is only one way (other than unfaithfulness) that he will break up with you, and that is if he feels that you, being with him, is putting you in too much danger. This man has waited 500 years for his mate or anyone to love him as wholly as you do, and ending your relationship will absolutely break him. He'll do it very respectfully and considerately, he will seem composed, yet not cold-hearted, but once he's behind closed doors and he is 1000% sure NOBODY can hear him, there will be tears streaming down his face and the only thing keeping him from going back on it is the knowledge that you are safer this way. His shadows try desperately to console him but nothing they do works, only you could calm him once he's at this point.

F = Fiancé (how does he feel about commitment? How quick would he want to get married?)

He has some commitment issues, the idea is daunting to him but he wouldn't be unfaithful to you, even if it would save his life. He would want to wait a few years before sealing the deal, he wants to know you, your soul, every sweet thought and dark desire, he wants to know everything.

G = Gentle (how gentle is he, physically and emotionally?)

Azriel is all about light touches that leave you wanting more, brushes against your arm with his own, light hand holding, small stolen looks across the room, just the sweetest thing. He tries his very best to hide any emotions he might have that would upset you, very aware of whatever emotional state you're in especially when you don't, needs some help to remember that he is allowed to have negative emotions and doesn't have to be ok 24/7.

H = Hugs (does he like hugs? How often would he hug you? What are his hugs like?)

Azriel doesn't mind hugs, if you hug him, he won't stop you and he will sometimes initiate them but, he's more inclined to other methods of affection; forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hand kisses, small adoring whispers in your ear, more kisses, longing looks, did I mention kisses?

However, when he does hug you, it's usually from behind so he has an opening for neck kisses or when he's just come back from a long mission and needs you in his arms.

I = I love you (who is the first to say, "I love you"?)

You. Definitely you, if you don't say it, the relationship is never happening. He will wait for you to spell it out, and even then, he isn't sure, like: you kiss him on the lips, stare lovingly at him, shyly say goodnight and he'd be like, she could have meant that as a friend, right?

Cauldron save this male; he is in Jude Duarte level denial.

J = Jealousy (How jealous is he?)

On the outside, not at all, very calm, collected, the most you'll see is a clenched jaw, or his hand might twitch toward Truth-Teller. Unless you show signs of discomfort, he will let you be.

On the inside? The leash on his anger is being pulled, and it has been pulled tight. There is no room for give on it. It is so taught that if a bird landed on it, it would snap. Whoever is in range should fucking run. And whoever it is aimed at should write their will and pray.

K = Kisses (What are his kisses like?)

Like I've mentioned previously, he loves giving you little pecks at random points of the day. However, when you're alone and he is just looking at you, and that wave of adoration hits him... he just can't help kissing you slow.

L = Little ones (How is he around kids?/Does he want any?)

Az gets really awkward around most kids, he tries not to get too close to them. He gets over this when it comes to kids he spends alot of time with, namely his nephew, Nyx.

Azriel is really scared to have kids, and at first he is completely convinced that he doesn't want any, though with the right person, He'll have kids, and he loves them more than the world itself. He resigns from his position as spymaster to fully commit to his family, he's got enough money, and he never looks back.

M = Morning (How are Mornings spent with him?)

Most days he is already training with Cassian before you wake up, but every Saturday, he has a slow morning wit you, or you'll wake to breakfast in bed.

N = Night (How are nights spent with him?)

Some nights you shower together, and it's sweet and wholesome, you do your skin routine and he'll watch with a smile fro the door way. You even manage to rope him into a nightly face mask later into your relationship.

He says goodnight with a million kisses all over, pulling the blanket over the both of you and pulls you in close, holding you no matter how much you move around in your sleep. If you're a sleep walker, no you're not.

O = Open (When does he start revealing things about himself? Is it all at once or bit by bit?)

Bit by bit for sure. Every small thing you learn about him is earned, there is no volunteering of information. You have to extract the lore, have to practically drag him kicking and screaming into emotional intimacy. There are no flood gates. It is a tap that never runs, only leaks slightly. It takes ages to get to everything that happened to him, but it is worth the wait. It always will be.

P = Patience (How easily angered is he?)

For you, infinite patience, he will explain and re-explain a topic as many times as you need. He just comes back from going out while it's that time of the year and you say you need/want something else again, no worries, he'll go out and get it for you, as well as being ready for you to say you forgot to tell him you wanted something when he gets back and go out again.

You are allowed to do things that no one else could do and walk out alive, like pranking him, and I don't mean something that Cassian would do, like hide a weapon of his, I mean like:

Azriel walks into the room while everyone is chatting. You immediately notice his presence yelling his name in excitement, heads turn toward him. Cassian spits out his drink, Rhysand's mouth falls open, Feyre gasps, Mor's eyes widen, even Nesta raises a brow. It takes a moment, then the shock wears off, and Cassian bursts out laughing.

"What happened to your hair?!"

Azriel's brow furrows. "What do you mean?" He could see you desperately trying to hold in your laughter, but failed, and sunk to the floor, not able to breathe from how hard you were laughing. He could see Rhysand also fighting it off, but his face cracked, and he to, joined in, Feyre and Mor were not far behind.

"What? What is wrong with my hair?" Nobody could pause their hysterics long enough to say something. He stood in confusion until Amren, the only one who wasn't laughing at all said "It's bright blue, boy" that for some reason unleashed a new wave of giggles and Nesta cracked a smile.

He looked to the mirror hung in the hall, seeing that his hair was indeed a pastel blue, with flecks of purple near the ends. The truth was, he knew his hair would be an unusual colour today, his shadows had caught you buying the magic hair-dye, but he let you swap out his shampoo, as to not spoil your fun.

Even if he hadn't known, the look on your face said everything. "You are lucky I love you" he said, shaking his head and sighing, your smile only broadened at his words, your arms flung around his mid-section and face nuzzled in his chest. "I love you too"

Q = Quizzes (How much does he remember things about you? Does he remember everything in passing or does he forget everything?)

Little secret, Az is actually quite forgetful, when it comes to dates like your anniversary or the inner circle's birthdays (Including his own) he cannot remember it for the life of him. Luckily, his shadows give him reminders but when it comes to the details, like your coffee order, preferred foods, general likes and dislikes, it's like he has a separate compartment of his brain allocated to only you with unlimited space.

"How did you know I liked (Input song name here)"

"I remember you humming it when I walked into the room"

"When? I forgot about this song."

Short pause

"Eight years ago? Give or take."

R = Remember (What is his favourite moment in your relationship?)

If you ask him, he'll probably say when you said 'I love you' for the first time, or that time you woke up after a peaceful night, just looking at him with love but really, it was when he was pissed at Rhys and Cassian for disregarding his dislike of the Illyrians because they wanted him to 'embrace his culture'.

Rhys had sent him to go talk with Devlon and a number of other camp lords when they both had the afternoon completely free, spending it with their mates as if he didn't have a mate too.

After he got back, he had gone straight to you, and you had listened to him while combing your fingers through his hair. He had finally dragged himself downstairs to give Rhysand the news on the camps with you following behind him a few paces.

You waited outside the door, Azriel had opened it, about to leave when Rhys said he also wanted the report of some other mission by tomorrow morning. Azriel didn't even say anything, he'd just sighed and a muscle in his jaw ticked, then Rhysand had made some comment about his attitude, it was spoken with a light tone, but you had had it with his crap.

You had started berating him, yelling, really laying on it, not even letting him get a word in. Not that he could, he was too stunned.

Cassian had made the grave mistake of seeing what the commotion was. You brought him into it. Both Rhys and Cass had to just take it like children being scolded for taking an extra cookie. Neither would meet your eyes when you were done.

You grabbed Azriels hand, pulling him along as you stormed out. Once rounding the corner, you winnowed both you and Azriel to your house muttering under your breath. The only words he actually caught was "Fuck them" before you pulled him into bed and you simply cuddled for the rest of the night and well into the morning.

S = Security (How protective is he? How would he protect you? How would he like to be protected?)

Az is your personal body guard and the shadows are the surveillance cameras. No one in Velaris is safer.

He needs no physical protection, he needs emotional protection. He needs you to guard his heart like a dragon guarding treasure. He needs you to occasionally remind him to stand up for himself against Rhysand and Cassian because he deserves good things too.

T = Try (How much effort does he put into dates/anniversaries/etc?)

In the beginning, he is trying to impress you, to convey how much he feels for you through the dates as he struggles to articulate the enormity of his love. Like booking out theaters, really fancy dinners, picnics with way too much food and so on it's honestly overwhelming.

He eventually dials it back, finding a good balance of well thought out but not OTT (Over The Top). Every once in a while though, he'll still do an extra something.

U = Ugly (What is a bad habit of his?)

His tendency to shrink into himself when he's in pain, to ignore his needs, to put what he wants on the back burner to focus on everyone else.

V = Vanity (How concerned is he with his looks?)

See, the massive injustice of Azriel is that he barely gives 2 shit's, as long as he looks somewhat presentable, he couldn't be bothered to do anything more.

He wears the same thing every day, washes his face, combs hair, and he's ready.

He is blessed with effortless beauty.

W = Whole (Would he feel incomplete without you?)

He always felt incomplete, before he met you, there was a hole, after he met you, that hole was slowly filled up with your laugh, smile, and touch. If he had to lose you, that hole would be ten times as large and gaping, because the entire foundation of his very being went with you.

X = Xtra (A random head cannon for them)

He likes hiding little things like your keys or glasses (If you have them) so that when you ask "Azriel, have you seen my {fill in the blank}" he can stand there with said object in hand and give it to you, all so you'll give him that little smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Y = Yuck (What is something he wouldn't like either in a partner or in general?)

He can handle pretty much anything. There isn't much that could actually detour him from someone he truly loves. He puts up with Rhysand and Cassian every day for cauldrons' sake, but the one thing that is necessary is silence.

Not all the time, and he loves talking to you more than anyone else, but sometimes, after a long, hard mission, talking and general conversation is not something he's up for.

He just needs a quiet night where you're just next to each other, not speaking or anything just, existing.

Z = Zzz (What are his sleep habits?)

Whenever he collapses is entirely up to the mother... unless his ultimate weakness coaxes him into something more regular. If you just so happened to ask him to come to bed early, or asked him to be in bed by 11:00 at the latest because you struggle to sleep without him, and with the puppy eyes and pouty face too, well... how could he resist? He can't go after you have fallen asleep because you hold on to him, he can't just leave in the middle of the night, you'd be cold, and when you inevitably request that he stay an extra 5 minutes, those papers on his desk just have to wait, his mate is more important.

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kaleldobrev · 1 year ago

Text

A Simple Misunderstanding

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hughie might of overheard something he probably shouldn't have between you and Ben

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Cursing (9x), Fluff, Sexual Innuendos, Implied Drug Use, Soldier Boy (Yes, our macho man gets his own warning)

Authors Note: So, this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I've been going back and forth debating if I was going to post this or not. But once I gave the summary to @zepskies she said she was intrigued, so I said, "What the heck?" and now it's posted for your enjoyment | This is my first time writing for this universe so I hope I was able to do these characters justice | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

It was the middle of the night and Hughie couldn’t sleep. Although him and The Boys were in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors for miles, it surprised him how noisy everything could be. He had lived in New York City all his life; he was used to the noise. The bustling sounds of traffic, the occasional gunshot or stabbing, airplanes always flying overhead, or a supe destroying some vehicles while trying to catch a culprit. But the noises he heard were much different; it was the sounds of the crickets, droplets of water hitting an unwashed plate in the sink, and random incoherent whispering. The hustle and bustle of the city had become white noise to him.

Looking over at the clock it just struck 1:59am. He hadn’t been in bed long trying to sleep, only attempting to just a little past midnight. Since joining the group, it was unusual for him to actually get to bed at a normal time or even go to bed at all. He was used to going a day or two without sleep. Frenchie tempted him with some sort of drug to keep him going or an energy drink, MM would usually offer coffee which was the preferred method for Hughie. But at this point, the caffeine wasn’t working anymore, as he had started drinking it like water. Unhealthy for sure, but so was not sleeping for one, two, or three days straight.

This was the first time in a long time where everyone was actually sleeping, even Butcher. It was strange, because as long as Hughie had known him, he never once saw the man sleep. The closest he ever got was when he would get knocked out; but even then, that was kind of a rare occurrence.

Getting up from his bed he sat on the edge of it for a moment rubbing his face. He had wanted to stay in bed and keep trying to fall asleep, but he knew that there was no use. So he decided to implement a trick that he remembered his mother using when she couldn’t fall asleep or get back to sleep. When she had trouble falling asleep or getting back to sleep, she would do various things to occupy herself until she felt tired enough to try and sleep again. Her usual go-to’s were either reading in the living room or listening to Billy Joel quietly to herself. Once, Hughie remembered waking up in the middle of the night and had found her humming quietly to herself while she read a book in the living room. The only light came from a single table lamp next to her.

Leaving the bedroom he started making his way down the hall toward the living room where he decided to watch some TV. There would probably be nothing worth watching at this time; just infomercials about grills or some kind of cleaning agent that didn’t work. He really wasn’t picky about what he watched, he just wanted something to help him fall asleep.

As he walked down the hall, he heard faint whispering coming from one of the bedrooms. He thought that he had been the only one up - guess he was wrong. The room in which he heard the whispering coming from was Soldier Boy's room - something that he didn't find surprising in the slightest, as he was someone that actively fought sleep. "I've slept enough," he would say.

He started walking away, but didn't move far as he stopped dead in his tracks. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" That was your voice. What the Hell were you doing in his bedroom? And at this hour? Hughie thought to himself. He knew that the two of you were friends of some sort, as you were the only person that SB genuinely seemed to like and get along with, but for some reason, it didn't really occur to Hughie that you would be spending time with him this late into the night.

The next thing he heard was chuckling, chuckling from SB. "Trust me." The next sounds Hughie heard actually made his eyes go wide. It was the bedside drawer opening and closing just as quickly, the sound of some kind of plastic being opened, and then bed springs squeaking. The squeaking was so loud that he could only assume that it was the two of you moving in unison, not just one of you.

“Oh wow that’s…huge.” You commented, emphasizing the word ‘huge.’ Huge? Hughie thought. Gross.

Again, SB chuckled. “Never seen one so big Princess?” Princess?! Hughie was surprised he didn’t gag right then and there. Never did he ever want to hear SB say the word Princess, nor did he ever want to hear it in the context of it being used to describe you; his best friend since kindergarten.

“No, never.” You replied back, sounding as if you were embarrassed. “I mean, I’ve heard they can be that big but…” you trailed off.

So many emotions were taking over Hughie: but disgust was the main one. There were two things that his brain automatically came up with in this scenario. The first: barge into the room and stop you and Soldier Boy from having sex, the second: move far away as possible from the door and pretend this never happened. As much as he wanted to do the first option, he valued his life too much, didn't want to see Soldier Boy in all of his naked glory (once was enough when they were in Russia), nor did he want to be a cockblock for one of the oldest and most powerful supes in history. He knew, that being a cockblock would have been the very last thing he would do in life if he barged in. Option two it is, he thought to himself. With that decision, he never moved so quickly in his life.

The morning finally came and you were greeted by Ben having his arms wrapped around you and your head tucked underneath his chin. His embrace around you was tight, but not so tight that if you needed to move, you could (not that he would let you move any way, he was too comfortable). He's getting better at not crushing me when we cuddle, you couldn't help but think. The position the two of you were in was an intimate one, and it had become a somewhat regular occurrence over the past couple of weeks. It was something that you never thought would ever happen, especially when you first met him a few months ago.

Your relationship with Ben had drastically changed in the short amount of time that you had known him and took a complete 180. When you first met him, you were initially excited to meet him because you had watched all of his movies on repeat growing up as your father was a huge Soldier Boy fan - it was something the two of you had bonded over. But when you met him, he was far from how you envisioned him to be. He wasn't this all-American hero who stood up against injustice - he was a misogynistic racist asshole.

As time went on, Ben had somehow started to grow on you. Although there were still elements of him that radiated misogynism and racism, you gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to certain things. How it wasn't entirely his fault, as he had spent 40 years essentially in isolation being tortured by the Russians; completely unaware of the massive changes that took place in the world. Once you had "remembered" that, and started spending more and more time with him, you had started to fall for him - and it happened relatively quick.

"Good morning." He said to you, his voice lazy as he kissed your bare shoulder.

"Good morning to you too." You replied back, pressing your back and ass closer into him.

"Your heart's beatin' a little fast there Princess." He smirked.

"It's just nice waking up like this, that's all." You said. "Well, you kissing my bare shoulder doesn't hurt either."

"You know, I can kiss other parts too." He said, keeping the smirk on his lips.

"Hmm, I know you can." You said, turning to face him. He leaned in and kissed you, a little surprised that he was the one that initiated. "Can I ask you something?"

You heard an annoyed sigh from him. "You're going to ask if I say no or not Sweetheart." He responded with his usual bluntness.

"Yeah you're right." You said. Ben couldn't help but slightly roll his eyes. "So my question," you began, turning to face him completely as you propped up your elbow on the pillow. "Why didn't you try and have sex with me last night?"

Ben looked at you with a mixture of confusion and amusement. "You're disappointed that I didn't try and fuck you?" He let out a small chuckle at your question.

"Honestly...Yeah. I mean, everyone was sleeping, and I know you want to. Plus, I barely had anything on." When you came to his room last night, you had purposely wore more revealing clothes in order to tempt him - a tank top and boy shorts.

"You wouldn't've been able to stay quiet." He began. "Although, it would have been fun to hear you attempting to be quiet and failing miserably." There was that smirk again.

"You don't know that." You said, your fingertips running up and down his bare arm.

"Y/N, trust me. You wouldn't have." His confidence was almost radiating arrogance.

"Is that a promise?" You asked. Your question more bold than you had intended it to sound.

"Oh, it most definitely is." He said. "I'll tell you what. We can test it out tonight." He leaned in, inches away from your face, moving a strand of lose hair that had fallen in front of your face.

"Promise?" You asked, your voice low, a little hesitant.

"I didn't stutter did I?"

"No Sir." You said, leaning in and kissing him again.

The smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes filled the air, glasses of orange juice on the table. MM and Frenchie making breakfast for everyone while Kimiko helped to set the table. Butcher sat on the barstool on the island in the kitchen, every once in a while taking a sip of coffee and reading the paper. Hughie walked into the kitchen and took a seat next to Butcher, his face looked like he had seen a ghost. Putting down the last plate, Kimiko looked at Hughie and walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He didn’t respond to her touch, which made her slightly frown with concern. Frenchie looked over at her and she signed something to him. “Petit Hughie, she wants to know what’s wrong.” Frenchie translated.

Hughie didn’t respond, he just sat there on the stool looking off into space. Frenchie waved his hand in front of Hughie’s face. “Petit Hughie?” Frenchie and MM exchanged looks, and Butcher put down the paper.

“Oi, lad.” He waved his hand in front of his face too. He looked over at MM and Frenchie. “I know what to do.” Without hesitation, Butcher slapped Hughie in the face, causing him to almost fall off the barstool.

Hughie started rubbing his cheek where Butcher had slapped him. "What the fuck was that for?"

"For being a creepy little shite and not saying anything when we're talkin' to ya." Butcher responded.

"I had uh, a rough night." Hughie said. He pointed at his cheek. "This isn't going to bruise is it?" He asked, Butcher rolled his eyes.

"Do you want me to make it bruise?" He asked, smirking.

"Good morning everyone!" You practically sang as you walked into the kitchen. Everyone besides Ben had been there, as he was still currently pre-occupied with taking a shower. Everyone was currently sitting at the dining room table, slowly taking bites of their breakfast. Every so often, they took glances at you before looking back down at their plate of food.

Sitting down at the table, you took your usual spot next to Hughie and gave him a quick smile, before taking your fork and started digging into your pancakes. "MM, Frenchie, did you guys make this?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"Uh, yeah." MM responded, almost too quietly. It was a little strange to you how quietly he had responded, but at the same time, you didn't really think anything of it, as the last couple of days has been a little rough for everyone. Despite being in a safe house, you knew that MM was at least up some of the night making sure that all of you were actually safe. You weren't sure if it was because of the situation you all were in, his military background, his OCD, or a combination of the three.

After a few moments of silence Hughie finally spoke to you. "So, how did you uh, sleep?"

You took a sip of your orange juice before responding. "Pretty good actually. Best I've slept in quite a while." Which was true. "How about you?"

"Rough night." Hughie said, responding very quickly to your question, as if he already had his answered prepared.

You frowned at his answer. "I'm sorry. Nightmare? Couldn't sleep?"

"A little of both." He said.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"Ye-" Before he could finish his sentence, Ben walked into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a t-shirt that you had gotten him about a week ago. Without saying a single word, Ben took his usual spot next to you and started digging into the plate of food in front of him.

You cleared your throat and looked at him, which caused him to look at you. "What?" He asked, a mouth full of pancakes.

"Isn't there something you'd like to say?" You asked.

"Christ on a cross..." He mumbled, before looking up. "Morning." He said, forcing a smile before looking down at his plate again. "Happy?" He mumbled just low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled at him. "Very." You whispered back.

"The things I fucking do for you." He mumbled.

Hughie stood up very abruptly, the utensils and plates shaking a bit. This abruptness had caused everyone to look at him (except for Ben, who didn't even seemed bothered in the slightest). "You know what, I'm just going to come out and say it." His voice confident.

"We know you're gay." Ben said, very nonchalantly, still not looking up. "It's uh, good for you." He looked up now, focusing his attention on Hughie. "Be proud or...whatever." He finished, flashing him a forced smile. Ben then turned toward his attention to you, looking for some kind of approval from you regarding what he just said. Trying to adjust to the modern age was hard for him, but he was thankful that you were there to help him navigate things.

"What? I-I'm not gay. For the last time, I'm with Annie." Hughie said, trying his best to defend himself.

"I've been told that's called a beard." Ben took another bite out of his pancakes, and your hand automatically went to his thigh, giving it a small squeeze. It was your way of basically telling him to stop talking. He looked at your hand before looking at you again. "What?"

You turned your attention to your friend. "Hughie, what did you want to say?"

"Okay. I'm just going to come out and say it. Ask it. Whatever!" His voice sounding insanely flustered. "Did you guys fuck last night?"

You felt your eyes go wide, your fingernails digging into Ben's pants. You didn't know what to say, you were speechless. "What's it to you?" Ben asked, not even seeming to be remotely fazed by Hughie's question.

"Because she's my friend." Hughie responded. He knew that his response wasn't good enough.

"Okay, and?" Ben gave him a confused look, unsure of what Hughie's point even was. "I'll repeat, what's it to you? Y/N doesn't ask every time you blow Butcher."

"Again, I'm not gay." Hughie said, his voice sounding defeated.

"Whatever. Point is, she doesn't fucking ask. So why are you asking?" You couldn't help but agree with Ben, who seemed to be very reasonable in his questioning for once.

Hughie looked at Ben and you, and then looked at the rest of the group - all of them staring at him, waiting for him to say something. "Because..." he tried to find the right words. "Because you two are the reason why I couldn't sleep last night!" You and Ben exchanged looks, not understanding. The two of you focused your attention on him. Before either you or Ben could say anything, Hughie started talking again. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" He looked at you. "Never seen one so big?" He looked at Ben. "You're even wearing his fucking shirt!" Hughie pointed to the shirt you were wearing.

You looked down at your shirt before looking at Hughie again. "I always wear Ben's shirts." You stated.

"No, you don't actually!" Hughie's voice was starting to sound so frantic now.

"She looks damn good in them though." Ben commented, taking yours and his empty plate to the sink.

"Hughie, I can assure you. Me and him didn't have sex last night." You said, really trying your best to reassure your friend, even though - to Ben's point - it wasn't remotely his business anyway.

"We will tonight though." Ben said, his voice calm as it has been throughout this entire exchange.

"They didn't need to know that." You pinched the bridge of your nose. You weren't embarrassed that Ben said that, but it was something that you didn't think he needed to add to the conversation.

"Sure they did. I mean, your friend here seems interested." Ben walked over back to the table, placing two mugs of coffee before sitting back down next to you again.

"For the love of..." You mumbled. "We smoked a blunt last night! There! Happy?" Your voice was the one that sounded frantic now, with a small hint of annoyance added.

"You guys...smoked...a blunt?" Hughie felt his cheeks heating up, embarrassed by this whole exchange now. "So you guys weren't talking about the size of his -"

"Hughie you better not finish that fucking sentence I swear to God." MM said, his voice sounding as if he had lost all of his patience already for the day, and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet.

“Ben and I were talking and I had mentioned that I’ve never smoked a blunt before, or have done any kind of drugs so he offered to let me try it. That’s it.” There was much more to the conversation, but you didn't feel like adding anything else. The rest of the gang didn't need to know that you and Ben were planning on going some place far away from New York when all was said and done.

"You never smoked a blunt before? I'm shocked." Butcher stated. "Swear you have." For as long as he had known you (which was quite a while now, as you joined The Boys about a year before Lamplighter had killed Mallory's grandkids), he could have sworn up and down that you were on some kind of drugs, but he never could put his finger on it. He thought about asking you of course, but he always decided against it.

"It's shocking I know." You shrugged. "I guess it's never appealed to me."

"Well it's a good thing you're with Mister Coke Head over here." Butcher said, adding a little chuckle at the end.

"Just because we're together doesn't mean I'm gonna start doing drugs with him Butcher." You defended.

"She'll be too busy doing other things." Ben smirked, before winking at you.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @zepskies If you want to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #ben x you #ben x reader #reader insert #female reader #the boys amazon

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peachhcs · 1 month ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/peachhcs/768260981215330304/httpswwwtumblrcompeachhcs767959888939941888

okay so freaking cute.

i can’t wait to see them in san jose.

totally see them having really soft sex because of her shoulder and will just being so gentle.

a weekend in san jose

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

part 11!! WOW guys i made this into a lovely 6.3k fic filled with lots of fuff and a bit of smut! i got super carried away and because everyone seems to like longer fics sometimes, i put this all into one part woohoo (can also be read as a stand alone if u really want)

i made note in big red letters where the smut starts and ends so if you don't wanna read it, you can just skip past it. :)

if you do read the smut though warnings are: hickeys, making out, fingering, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, swearing, i think that's it? just read at ur own risk and skip if u don't wanna read! :) but anyways, enjoy this long fic!!!!!!!!! this may be the last part of this side plot unless there's more you guys think of and if you do pls send my way and i will happily write it

au masterlist

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10

samy was in san jose the next weekend. she came out of her gate in search of will who told her he'd meet her there, so her eyes scanned the crowd for his familiar blonde curls. there were so many people pushing and shoving their way through, she forgot how busy san jose's airport was compared to ann arbor.

finally, the brunette found will's taller figure near the edge of the crowd. she quickly grinned, raising her hand so he'd see her before navigating herself towards him. she came out on the other side of the crowd embracing her boyfriend in a tight hold. he held her tightly, spinning the two around a bit.

"hi, so good to see you," the girl mumbled into his shoulder.

"glad you made it safely. it's good to see you too," will cheered, pulling back so he could see her face. his hands caressed her cheek, quickly pecking her lips and then pulling her back towards the exit.

"mack's waiting with the car in kind of an illegal parking spot, so we gotta hurry back," will explained his fast pace while samy just giggled. typical.

"don't tell me you parked in the pick up lane," she raised her eyebrow. when will didn't say anything the girl hit his arm and rolled her eyes.

"what? i wasn't gonna spend an hour fighting with someone in the parking garage," he defended himself because why would he waste his time in there when he could sort of illegally park in the pick up line for ten minutes?

will navigated them through the busy airport in five minutes, way faster than samy would have gotten herself out. the warm san jose air hit her skin like a refreshing drink after spending so much time in the cold back in michigan. she giggled as the blonde pulled her towards his fancy bronco—one of the first things will spent his new money on.

"wow, i haven't seen the car in person yet," she admired how clean and sleek it looked compared to her parent's old ford suv she drove around back home. (and it was actually jack's before it was hers)

"nice, isn't it?" will grinned proudly as he helped samy get her suitcase into the back.

"hey samy!" mack exclaimed from where he moved himself to the backseat. the only rule in will's car was that samy got passenger seat anytime she was around.

"hey mack!" the girl exclaimed and ran around to quickly hug in before getting into the front.

will was in a moment later and the three of them rolled out before an officer gave them a ticket for parking in the pick up line.

"it's good to see you, mack. i haven't seen you since the draft," samy grinned.

"you too. i'm excited you're visiting this weekend. smitty was yapping in my ear yesterday about all the plans he had for you guys," the younger brunette said making will flush in slight embarassment. samy found it endearing though.

"ooh, i can't wait. i haven't been up since we moved him in at the beginning of august," the girl poked her boyfriend's arm to which he just grabbed her hand to hold it.

macklin smirked from the backseat, remembering the conversation he poked at will about a month ago about his driving. it all made sense to the shark player now.

"well when you and will aren't off doing whatever, sennecke and i wanna catch up with you. he said he'd drive up to hang out like tomorrow or something," macklin said.

"wait, yeah. i wanna see him beck. i told him i'd see him whenever i was here," samy grinned. beckett and mack were the two "freshmen" she adopted and basically took under her wing at the draft this past summer and with such busy schedules, she hadn't been able to see them since.

"not to put a dent in your plans or anything smitty," macklin eyed his friend in the front seat. will just shrugged.

"all good, we have like three-ish days to do stuff. i haven't seen much of beckett either so it'd be cool to see him," will nodded in agreement and the other two smiled.

will dropped macklin back off at his place and then went back around the block to the house. he helped samy with her luggage again and led the way into the marleau household.

"just a fair warning, pat's youngest kids will go a little crazy at first because..you know..you're quinn, jack, and luke's little sister," will chuckled a bit before he opened the door. samy flushed, a smile gracing her lips.

"dont worry, i can handle it," and with that, will carefully opened the front door.

the commotion could be heard loud and clear. it was definitely a boy house with the tv on loud and voices already arguing about something as the couple stepped in.

"hey guys, will's back with samy!" patrick saw them first where he got up from the couch to greet them.

christina came out from the kitchen with the youngest boys behind her. the older ones got from the couch too. "hi samy! it's so good to finally meet you. we've heard a bunch about you," chrisitina grinned, going in for a hug.

"it's so good to finally meet you guys too," she hugged her back and then went to give a quick hug to patrick.

"welcome to our home for the weekend! these are our boys—landon, brody, jagger, and caleb," patrick introduced the boys who shyly waved at the girl.

"you're quinn's sister!" caleb exclaimed making the others laugh. samy smiled, bending down so she was eye level with him.

"i am. maybe i can score you a signed puck or something," the girl laughed and she loved the way caleb's face lit up at that idea.

"why don't you guys get settled in and then i have some lunch whenever you're hungry," christina smiled and samy thanked them for letting her stay before following will upstairs.

she admired how will already hung up some of the things that were on his walls at boston. she especially liked the framed pictures of her and him on his nightstand.

"those boys are adorable," she turned to him as he set down her suitcase and shut the door.

"they're pretty funny. maybe they can convince you to play some driveway hockey with them," will chuckled.

"oh, 100%. they seem so nice, i'm glad you've found a home here with them," samy sat down on the bed to just take it all in and catch her breath after the plane ride and meeting everyone.

will quickly joined her. "it's..it's the life alright. i'm grateful for how kind they've been to me."

"i mean, duh. who wouldn't wanna be kind to you," the soccer player laughed as she reached over to pinch her boyfriend's cheek. he took that as his opportunity to take ahold of her hand and bring her in for a better kiss than their peck at the airport.

this one was a lot slower and filled with more love. samy curled her good arm around his neck where she toyed with the little curls on the back of his neck. her hand brushed against his chest and will curled his own fingers around her own.

"i love you. i'm glad you're here. this is gonna be really fun," the boy hummed when they pulled apart.

"i love you too, handsome. can't wait to beat your ass in driveway hockey later," she teased and will rolled his eyes.

"alright. don't gotta go that far."

"you're just mad because you know i will, even with a hurt shoulder," the brunette smirked. luckily, she was able to graduate from a bulky sling to a shoulder brace that still kept everything in place, but she had a bit more mobility than before.

plus, even though it was her right shoulder, she shot with her opposite arm and hand in hockey so she'd have no problem taking down will and the marleau kids.

later that afternoon, samy did exactly that. all the marleau boys were out in the driveway with will and samy as they teamed themselves off to play against one another. samy got brody and landon, the older ones, for the first round and she already knew they were gonna kick will's butt.

she ran right past will's feet and passed the ball they were playing with towards landon. he swiped past his brothers to shoot it right into the back of the neck. samy and brody cheered while will groaned.

"you have a hurt shoulder, i'm not gonna go hard on you," the blonde complained and made an weak excuse for the loss.

"come on, babe. i'm not broken. i can still play. you don't gotta go easy on me," samy said.

"if you say that, i am gonna go hard on you and then end up hurting you more, so i'm good," will said as the six of them sit themselves back up.

"will hurting his girlfriend? ooh.." jagger said making everyone but will laugh.

"someone record it!" samy added into the teasing which will just shook his head to.

they played for the rest of the night until christina called them in for dinner. samy got to know the marleau's more while she told them about her life at michigan and the legacy her and her brothers were leaving on the field and on the ice.

once they finsihed, will and samy hung out downstairs for a bit before calling it a night knowing there was a lot to do tomorrow with will's extensive itinerary.

"i love those kids," samy commented from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth.

"they're really great. they're always bugging me to play with them," will smiled.

"that's so cute. they probably look up to you so much in addition to their dad. i hope you cherish that," the brunette hummed.

"oh, i do, don't worry. it keeps me motivated when they watch the games and see how i do."

the youngest hughes shut the light off and eagerly crawled into will's bed. this was her favorite part about getting to visit and sleeping in the same bed together. will was always so warm, so it was especially nice when they were in michigan or boston and it was below 30 degrees. even now it added that extra comfort as the girl snuggled in close to her boyfriend and wrapped her arms around his torso. the sleep came faster than it had all semester and she was out in minutes with will not too fard behind her.

—

will picked macklin up again the next day as they headed downtown to the place they would meet beckett for lunch. the younger brunette was pretty chipper as he climbed into the back, probably because it wasn't 7 in the morning for once when will picked him up.

"how was your night?" macklin wondered, definitely smirking.

"it was great, how was yours?" samy asked.

"mine was great, too. did you guys—"

"macklin" will warned before the boy finished his sentence. samy just giggled.

"i was gonna ask if the boys dragged you out to play driveway hockey," macklin kept talking even though they all knew that wasn't his original question.

"they did. i beat will in an overwhelming 6-2," samy proudly said.

"6-2? jeez, smitty. you got distracted or something?" the younger brunette burst into laughter making will's cheeks flush.

"shut up," will mumbled while samy poked his cheek.

"he's just mad i can still beat him with a hurt shoulder."

the three made mindless conversation as they rode into the city. samy caught macklin up on everything happening at mich and a few things on her brothers. macklin caught samy up on things she did and didn't hear from will about the sharks and life in san jose so far. it all sounded like it was going really well which made the girl happy.

will rolled them into a parking spot just outside of the restaurant, "i think he's almost here or is here," macklin checked his phone.

a bright orange range rover rolled into the parking space two down from where they were just as macklin said that. everyone knew it had to be beckett considering the orange matcbed the anaheim colors perfectly. they all got out and sure enough, beckett's tall frame got out of the car.

he smiled widely when he saw them. "hey guys!" the younger boy exclaimed as he locked the car and hurried over to them.

"hey, beck! it's been so long," samy hugged him first which he reciporcated into a tight squeeze.

"it's so good to see you in california. hey, celly, smitty," the other two boys took their turn saying hello.

"your car is awesome, by the way. orange is very fitting," samy pointed to the car.

"oh, thanks. my mom thought it would be fun for me to get it wrapped, so i did. pretty sick isn't it?" everyone nodded in agreement before heading inside to get a table.

the four ended up on the outside patio where macklin was the first to get conversation going and ask about beckett's season so far. the younger boy excitedly explained how much experience he's been gaining and getting to make friends with the older guys on the team. of course, samy asked him about trevor for jack's sake.

"oh, he's super funny and a great mentor. he's got a lot of good tips for all the rookies," beckett smiled.

"i'll make sure to tell jack that, then," samy chuckled.

"what about all of you? the sharks have been really moving up with the recent wins," the ducks player turned the conversation to the other two boys.

"yeah, i mean it's been awesome. we're all definitely improving which i think is really good. get to spend all my time with mack over here," will roughed up his friend's shoulder making the brunette pull away from his grasp.

"totally. i love annoying him. my favorite activity, actually," macklin grinned.

"michigan has always been doing really good this season. do you think you guys are making it to the finals again?" beckett turned the conversation to samy.

"i hope so. we've definitely turned the program around in the last year, so i'm excited to see what else we can do," the girl grinned.

"sorry about your shoulder, by the way. i know that must suck," the younger boy commented and samy just shrugged.

"it's not horrible anymore. i actually beat will in driveway hockey last night so that has to mean i'm doing better," the youngest hughes teased her boyfriend again.

"damn, i mean yeah. what was the score?"

"6-2."

"6-2? smitty, what happened?" beckett had the same reaction as macklin making him and samy laugh again.

"alright, alright, i get it. i suck when my girlfriend does any competitive sport against me," the blonde shook his head, but smiled nonetheless.

the three spent the rest of lunch catching up with one another before deciding to walk around downtown a bit since beckett nor samy had been before. macklin and will took the honors of pointing things out and taking them into the shops they thought were cool.

samy's eye was caught when they made it into a small boutique. she quickly admired all of the jewlery and clothes up on the racks. will watched the girl carefully, a soft smile on his lips as he followed her around the store and let her use him to carry the things she wanted to try on.

"hey, we'll be right back," will called when samy pulled him back into the dressing room. macklin and beckett just exchanged a glance before snickering to themselves and letting the couple be.

will just stood on the outside of the stall though, handing things to samy when she asked for them and rating the things she put on. she came out in a very pretty, short, maroon dress with little flowers as the straps. will's eyes never left her as she did a small spin and he basically eyed her up and down. the color reminded him of boston.

"i really like this, but i don't know when or where i'd wear it," samy said as she looked back at herself in the mirror.

"i could think of a time," will subconsciously licked his lips earning a bright blush from the girl in front of him.

"alright, lover boy. i'm gonna change and then we can keep going," samy chuckled and shut herself back into the stall.

even though there was no occasion, samy decided to buy the red dress. she was at the register quite literally about to tap her card when will quickly slipped in and beat her to it, the payment processing onto his card instead.

"will," the girl looked at him in surprise.

"what?" he grinned.

"you didn't have to pay," samy frowned. him paying for her ticket here was already enough.

"and?"

not wanting to get into it in the store, samy decided to let it go as will grabbed the bag before she could. "thank you," she said as they walked away.

"anything for you," he kissed her cheek and they met back up with beckett and macklin outside.

"wow, you're so whipped," macklin commented when he saw will carrying samy's bag for her. beckett snickered.

"you'll understand when you have a girlfriend," will hummed, not even caring about the teasing anymore.

they stopped by a few more places before deciding to head back. everyone hugged beckett and made promises to see one another again and that beckett would try to see samy when the ducks came to detroit in a few weeks.

for november, it was surprisingly hot in san jose, so they rolled the windows down as soon as they were back in the car. will let samy control the aux, so she scrolled through her spotify looking for the right playlist as will got back onto the road to home.

one her favorites came up first which happened to be tate mcae's nwest song, two hands. the beat quickly brought the mood up and it felt perfect with the windows down. she started singing the lyrics, sticking her hand out to catch the breeze, imagining she was in the music video.

macklin and will nodded along also big fans of tate's music. samy's hair blew everywhere from the wind and she didn't see the way will's gaze kept flicking to her as she sang along. one of his guilty pleasures was listenng to tate mcrae's songs and it was the cherry on top listening to it with his girlfriend right beside him who loved her music just as much.

will thought of the lyrics, specifically the way samy sang them, especially when tate sang "i want them all to see, you look good on top of me." the blonde's mind ran a bit wild and he tried keeping his thoughts under control knowing this wasn't the time to be thinking of that.

but boy, it was hard not to and will wondered if samy was having the same thoughts.

they dropped macklin back off and will quite literally sped back to the house, samy a bit oblivious to the thoughts running through her boyfriend's head.

much to will's luck, the house was empty when they got in. he remembered that jagger had a basketball game and the older boys were still at practice, so he was gonna use all the time he had and pulled samy to the stairs.

"what's up with you?" samy laughed as she followed the hockey player into his room, lifting an eyebrow when he shut and locked the door behind them.

"i really wanna kiss you," the boy mumbled and then closed the space between them without letting samy respond.

he held her face in her hands as she let him kiss her. it was quick but passionate as the two melted into one another. samy felt will's eagerness as he slipped his tongue into her mouth and sucked her bottom lip into his.

"you're so beautiful," will mumbled between kissing and pulling back an inch for air.

"not that i'm complaining, but what's sparked this?" samy hummed as she ran her finger dow his sharp jaw.

"something about that song and you singing it had my head spinning," will confessed. the brunette smirked, a bit surprised to hear this.

"oh really?"

"figured we could test it out, you know?"

———SMUT STARTS HERE———

a wide smile spread across both of their faces as they reconnect their lips. will pushed samy back onto the bed where she laid down and he hovered above her. he remembered her shoulder, so he forced himself to slow down a bit so he wouldn't hurt her. he leaned on her good side as they made out.

samy's hands tangled into will's curls and a soft moan left his lips into hers. they really took this moment in, feeling every part of each other pushing against one another. will's hands curved around samy's hips as he worked her hips againsy his own, pressing his hardening dick against her thigh.

"shit, baby," the blonde moaned out. he was really trying to take his time knowing he didn't wanna hurt the girl even worse, but it was hard when his brain was so wired up at the moment.

samy moaned at the feeling of will's excitement agains her leg. one of her hands fell down to his chest again where she tugged at his shirt as indication that she wanted it off. the boy obliged, sitting up to peel the material off and exposing his very toned chest to her.

"every time i'm wowed by you," samy hummed as she admired will's six pack and toned muscles across his upper half.

"i'm flattered," he grinned, reconnecting their lips.

he helped samy get her own shirt off which revealed the pretty bralette underneath. will had such a bad thing for her tits as he immediately dipped his head down and started sucking the plump flesh. the girl giggled, wrapping her fingers into his curls again to give occasional tugs.

it was a really good thing samy wasn't playing at the moment so will could leave his hickeys or love bites he liked to call them now.

"shit, baby," the girl moaned when will brought his lips to her nipple. he prided himself in her reaction and sucked harder while going and back and forth between the two.

samy began arching her back off the bed into will as he hit all the right places and her skin became littered with dark bruises that only he would know were there.

that thought had will's cock twitching in the restrictive material of his shorts and a groan leaving his lips at the feeling of samy's bare tits pressing against his chest.

"fuck, babe," he muttered, pulling his lips away.

will started moving down. he placed little kisses all the way down samy's stomach until he reached her shorts. he smirked when he saw the look of desperation on her face for him to take them off.

"want these off?" he wondered and the girl nodded.

"please."

will pulled them down her legs where that pink fucking thong that drove the boy crazy hid underneath. his mouth watered at the sight, getting flashbacks to august. "god, i love this fucking thing," he grumbled, hooking his fingers around the band and pulling to make a snap against her skin.

"wore it just for you," a smirk graced her lips making will shake his head.

"i fucking love you," will leaned down to press little kisses around her hip bone that eventually turned into him sucking hickeys because these were the places no one would ever see but him and the thought drove the boy more crazy.

the little whimpers escpaing samy's lips was doing nothing to help the problem in will's pants that he tried to desperately ignore. he wanted to focus on samy and her pleasure, trying to forget about his own for now.

"fuck, you're dripping," will said when he pressed his fingers against the thin, very wet material of her thong.

"you're not the only one with eager thoughts," samy smiled lazily as she watched her boyfriend push her the material to the side so he could slide his fingers against her.

she threw her head back into the pillow when he started pushing them into her warm heat.

"fuck, will," a moan escaped her lips.

"god, you're so wet, baby. fuck," will slid two fingers in, slowly pumping in and out and in and out to get samy ready for the real thing.

he figured he needed to get her really ready because they didn't do anything when he visited michigan considering she just had surgery. this time was a completely different story though and it was safe to say they were both craving this.

"oh my god, will. faster, please," samy begged a little.

will pumped faster before dipping his head down and replacing his fingers with his tongue. the sensation made the girl jump a little, not expecting his tongue. the surprise was quickly replaced with immense pleasure though as will worked his mouth around.

"s-shit, will. oh my god," she grabbed his curls and tugged, basically using him to move him where she wanted.

considering will didn't do this a lot, he was pretty fucking good at it. he took samy's moans as a sign that he was doing it right and let her control him with tugs on his curls. she pushed her hips further against the boy's tongue, her orgasm close.

"fuck, will. i'm gonna cum," she cried.

"cum for me, baby," will encouraged, sucking harder.

the feeling sent the soccer player over the edge. she released right on will's lips and tongue, tugging his hair hard. the blonde smiled, licking his lips as he sat back up.

"did so good for me, baby," the blonde praised, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her lips. she flushed, slowly coming down from her high.

will leaned himself against her again and samy felt how hard he was now, still straining through the tight material of his shorts. his hips jerked forward when samy rubbed herself up against him.

"s-shit. i'm so hard for you," will moaned into her mouth.

"better do something about that, huh?"

the hockey player sat back on his heels as he unzipped his shorts, puling them and his underwear down in one go. his cock sprang up, the tip red and leaking some precum already. samy's mouth watered seeing her boyfriend's thick, throbbing cock before her.

"f-fuck," the blonde muttered as he pumped himself a few times. he leaned forward to fish out a condom from his nightstand, quickly breaking the wrapper and rolling it on.

"need to be inside you," he mumbled, eyes back on his girlfriend.

"want you to fuck me, will," samy begged a bit also eager for him to put it in.

will hovered over her again, lining himself up with her entrance. he slowly pushed in, ducking his head into the crook of her neck. they both moaned out at the first contact. the urge to cum already so strong.

"oh fuck, baby. you feel so good," will groaned, slowly rocking himself in and fighting all of his urges to just poud into her. he needed to be slow for her sake and not hurting her.

"yeah, baby. fuck, you're so big," samy moaned into his ear, her fingers scratching up his back as she let the pleasure overtake the slight pain since they hadn't done this in so long.

her walls sucked him in and he paused when he bottomed out to give the brunette a second to catch her breath. he kissed her lips, struggling to hold onto his self-control and not pound his hips.

"tell me i can move," the way she squeezed around him had his urge to cum slip fast.

"yes, move, please," samy nodded, so he started rocking his hips back and forth in a steady rhythm.

they moaned out as the pace continued building and will littered more kisses across her chest and lips. her tits pressed against his own chest again and will moaned at the feeling of her nipples rocking and bouncing against his skin with each trust.

"fuck, baby. oh—you feel so good—fuck," he wasn't gonna last. "you're squeezing me so good, practically sucking me in," the boy continued.

"feels so good, baby. shit. keep doing that," samy praised him as well, her grip getting harder on his biceps.

will was rocking his hips at a strong pace that moved the bed along with them. he was so glad no one was home right now or else he'd never be able to show his face ever again.

"mm, fuck yeah. oh, fuck yeah. you're gonna make me cum," will blabbered, the only thought in his mind was the one lyric and how he was quite literally on top of samy.

"cum for me will. wanna cum with you," samy got out.

little beads of sweat began building between their bodies and will directed his gaze to where he disappeared in and out of her. the way she sucked him so tight was gonna send the boy over the edge as his self-control slipped away.

"fuck. fuck. i'm gonna cum..i-i'm gonna fucking cum. please say you're close," the blonde cried, his hips now practically pounding into her even though he told himself to take it easy.

"i'm so close, baby. so close."

he felt her clenching around his length which meant she was about to cum. will thrusted a bit harder, hoping to push her over the edge for a second time. she buried her head into the pillow, her chest risng again to push against will's. he groaned, mesmerized with the way her tits bounced back and forth with each snap of his hips.

the sensation sent samy over the edge. she moaned loudly, releasing around will's throbbing cock that had been waiting for her to go first. the tight clench and squeeze sent the blonde over the edge too. he snapped his hips one last time into her, releasing into the condom with a moan.

"ah, fuckkk baby. jesus christ. fhhuck," the blonde's hips twitched, his sweaty body collapsing onto hers as he spilled all of his cum into the condom.

samy dragged her hand through his curls, grinning while peppering kisses across his face. "so good, will. did so good."

"fucking love you so much. we should put that song on more often," will smirked, placing his own soft kisses across her face.

he slowly pulled out, pealing the condom off and running it to the bathroom. he came back with a towel to clean up the rest of their mess. samy watched lovingly as her boyfriend cleaned her up before snuggling into her side for a moment.

"too bad i can't leave any bites on you," samy hummed when she saw how bare will's neck and chest looked compared to hers. they didn't want to risk fans seeing the marks during the season.

"you still can lower than my shoulders," the blonde smirked.

the brunette hated not returning the favor, so she pushed will onto his back and dipped her head below her shoulders which definitely resulted in will getting hard again and a second round.

———SMUT ENDS HERE———

on the last night samy was there, will planned a fancy date night at one of the restaurants downtown. she wore the dress she just bought and it was a miracle they even left the house because when will saw her come out of the bathroom, let's just say his mind ran wild again.

the atmosphere was definitely very high end and it felt like they were amongst the rich people who lived in the area on a saturday night out.

"i'm glad you came out," will grinned.

"thanks for buying my ticket again. i really appreciate it," samy grinned back.

"there's a lot more where that came from," the girl rolled her eyes a bit at his words despite the smile still on her lips.

"i'd have you out here every weekend if i could, you know that," will swirled some of his drink around in the glass, a mix between a smile and smirk on his features.

"yeah, i know. i wish. i'll probably see you soon though. when are you guys playing detroit?"

"in a few weeks i think," the hockey player hummed, the schedule not on the top of his head.

"so you'll see me then and maybe by then i'll be able to actually play," the girl scoffed a bit, but will just shook his head.

"i know it sucks, but you've been doing really good. you're gonna be back on the field in no time," he grabbed her hand from across the table. the gesture made her blush.

"i know, i know. i guess i have to think of new hobbies or something," they shared a laugh.

after dinner, they walked around downtown some more just trying to take everything in and spend every second they could together before samy's flight back home tomrorow. granted, will was still going crazy over the maroon dress hugging all the right places on his girlfriend's body, especially because it was so boston college colors, so their walk around downtown didn't last for long.

will was impatient and quite literally eager to have his girlfriend one more time because she needed to leave. his lips were on hers when they made it into the parking garage and he was pushing her against the car.

he knew the house would be full when they got back, so will did the one thing he promised macklin he'd never do—have sex in his car.

it was the best sex will ever had in the car though.

—

they got to the airport close to 6 in the morning, even earlier than when morning practice started. samy's flight was at 9 though and she wanted to be there early, so will got himself up to drive her and macklin tagged along to say goodbye too.

the drop off line gave the three deja-vu as will parked to the side and got out to help with the luggage. macklin yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eye as he got out too.

the two boys stood in front of the entrance where samy was about to disappear into.

"alright, i'll go first since smitty will take decades to let you go," macklin took the lead by opening his arms. "it was good seeing you, hughesy. we'll see you super soon."

"it was soo good seeing you, mack. keep will in line for me, yeah?" the girl joked a bit, eyeing the blonde behind them who playfully rolled his eyes.

"obviously, i will," they laughed and then macklin pulled away.

samy's gaze fell to will's sad one. she opened his arms for him where he buried his face into the crook of her neck, squeezing her tightly. "i'm gonna miss you so much."

"me too, but you'll be michigan in just a few weeks," she tried looking on the positives for them or else will would just make it really sad.

"i know, but it seems so far away," the blonde frowned.

"it'll go fast, i promise. i love you," the youngest hughes pulled back to see will's pretty face. he smiled, breathing her in one last time.

"i love you, too baby. get back safe. text me when you land," he hummed and she nodded.

they hugged one last time before samy pulled back because if she didn't they'd never let go of each other. she waved to the boys before heading inside. they waved back, will blowing her kisses until they couldn't see her anymore and some car behind them honked to get moving.

"fuck off," will said as him and macklin climbed back in.

they were basically half-asleep still, so much that when the brunette got back into the passenger seat, he didn't realize how pushed back it was so he basically fell onto his back when he got in. it caught both of them off guard.

"what the fuck happened to this seat," macklin grumbled as he fixed it so it was more upright and not as pushed back.

the realization hit him faster than will remembered the reasoning and then macklin's jaw dropped open.

"HOLY SHIT! you fucked in here! oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," the younger brunette began freaking out and will internally face palmed.

"dude, chill. chill. i promise i cleaned everything," will tried calming his friend down.

"dude, i can't believe this. oh my god, that's fucking disgusting. you said you'd never fuck in here!" the boy exclaimed.

"we had no other options! i swear it's clean," will defended himself. macklin didn't have anything else to say except shaming his head and the car behind them honked it's horn again.

will quickly drove out of the line, suddenly embarrassed that he forgot to fix the seat. he also worried macklin actually was mad until the brunette asked:

"so on a scale of 1-10 how good was it?"

there it was. it wasn't even 7 in the morning yet.

"dude," will shook his head.

"what? i feel like i deserve to know after you betrayed me like that."

"it was actually really fucking good. 10 for sure," will gave in with his answer.

"you know what? hell yeah. high five me for that one," macklin held his hand up. the blonde smacked it, a content smile on his lips now.

"now drive fast so i can get out of this car and go back to bed."

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 10 months ago

Text

Crinkled Polaroids

Ex-boyfriend!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Hi my lovelies, Lia here and I'd just like to say that this took so long and so much effort, I really poured my heart out on this one and I hope it goes well. Recently my biggest heartbreaks are the "What ifs", what if you two worked it out? Would things be different? Would Simon have the life you've dreamed for the both of you and the one he's been deprived of?

You might be asking me "Lia, what's up with all the angsty content recently, aren't you a fluff dedicated blog?" Well I feel ill, I just got off an extremely busy week and most of my drafts have been never ending angst because I lost ideas of a domestic fam with Simon but I still need to get something out for you guys okay? A random bedtime scenario written down at 3am and for the rest of my midnights during a photoshoot and exam week, what could go wrong?

I'm still waiting on what my beloved @connorsui's review has to say 👀

Disclaimers/Warnings: This is not proofread, also ANGST.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

A relationship with Simon Riley going south, at first it started great as most relationships do with several minor bumps due to his past but no big deal right?

But Simon distances himself, more than what's healthy and yes, you do give him his space but there's only little time until closing and distancing off for a while could turn into something like neglect.

Little things like "I love you"s, "thank you"s and every verbal affirmation that you used to think you could cling onto was now non-existent, it hurts but isn't as hurtful when he refuses to touch you.

Back hugs you give would only give you a cold shrug in return, kisses you left were on cold chapped lips that remain still. At this point, you were better off loving someone dead.. then again, aren't you already doing so?

The life you've imagined for the both of you cease to fade in your head as the true reality of the man you love sets in, that dumb idea your younger self who had rose tinted glasses had to actually settle down with someone in such a short period of time of a few years.

You felt so unappreciated, it seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to see you. You felt cheated of the relationship you were supposed to have with him when you see others with the one you love and how he acts around everyone except you. You felt like nothing but a chore to him, an occasional fuck who cleans his home.

Then again, this is a broken man, you felt entitled to ask such a thing of him when he himself is also just healing from what his past had caused.

In Simon's eyes, he was doing you a favor, fucked up in his part thinking hurting you is the best way to save you from himself. It worked, that's what he wanted.. right?

So you leave, it was best for the both of you anyway right? Simon deserves someone who could actually make him happy and you deserve to feel loved in a relationship. Simon's life was a mess, truly, but he didn't realize how much more of a mess it was without you.

Coming home to an empty shell of a house, nothing to look forward to. He found himself almost on the brink of insanity, moving things all over his own home as if you were still there.

Always finding himself staring at that one wornout and creased polaroid of you and him, you were a silly one huh? A hobby of yours that left so much proof of your existence.

Begging him to be in a picture, bribing him with a kiss. Slightly smudged and distorted but still legible pen ink at the back as he flips the flimsy piece of thick, shiny paper.

Keep him safe for me, Ghost.

- Your favorite girl <3

You always thought of him as Simon and Ghost as just an alter ego, a mask that he needs to wear in order to stomach the violence that comes with his occupation.

You were the only one who can differentiate these two people. Tears started to form in his eyes but he blinks it away and shoves the polaroid back in his wallet.

He only started noticing changes when Johnny points out that he's become stone cold, a lot more silent, though he was known to be a ghost.. a shadow.. it wasn't like him to not even try to light up his mood with his dark jokes.

Everytime Simon thinks he gets over the pain, there's always one thing in that stupid house that reminded him of you. You weren't there but it sure felt like that you haunted every corner of the house and his mind.

Whether that'd be something you gifted him or an item of yours left behind, especially when the two of you shared moments with those items, oftentimes Simon tries to relive those, preserve his fading memory of your face.

This is what happens when the decisions you make have consequences on the one that your world revolves around.

A few years down this lane, nothing has changed for Simon, at some part of this never ending low point in his life he was under substance abuse.. alcohol to be specific, since to him it was easier. In concern of his captain, he did get help for it to which had progress.

Ghost kept it together, "today was a day to celebrate Gaz" he thought, blowing out the nicotinic smoke and flicking the ash off his cigarette after.. he knew Ghost's thing was more of a "let's drink and play pool in a pub" rather than a sit-down dinner kind of guy but Kyle insisted.

He thought about how awkward it was, although Ghost felt like he knew Kyle's family just from the lovesick fool himself who would never shut up, always finding a way to talk about his wife and their two kids.

After another puff, he throws the cigarette butt on the pavement and grinds the sole of his shoe over it, the soft hiss for the cigarette evoking, proving it was put out.

Simon walked a few blocks till stopping at the Sergeant's described location, his footsteps made smooth, satisfying taps on the wood floorboards of the porch and he knocks.

Price took liberty of being the one to open the door for Simon because the family was busy, Simon walked through the front door with ease, seeing Johnny somewhat interacting with a kid.

He was welcomed by the a cozy looking space, it was homey and clearly occupied, the shoes lined up on the shoe rack next to the door from the largest pair to the tiniest which was such a far contrast from his empty gloomy apartment.

The kid caught glimpse of Simon, they run up to him and take his hand to guide him into the living room as of to welcome him before bringing back their attention to Johnny and somewhat messing with his stubby mohawk.

The lieutenant observed his surroundings, the little toys and picture frames hung around the house, for a moment his heart drops to his stomach, he blinks thinking he must've been imagining things. Simon walked closer to it, he wasn't imagining it.. that was you, in a wedding dress, in the photo with Kyle.

You looked glowing.. as if you've never looked better in your life, that heart stopping smile on your face, the flowery bouquet on your hands. The green of stems highlight the precious metal band on your finger. Of all the people, places and time, why here? Why now? Why Kyle..?

For a few seconds, just a few when Simon thought his nerves and gut settled, he heard the sweetest voice that was all he knew.

He forgot what it sounded like, the effect it had on him, all too overwhelming for a man who tried desperately to run away from the consequences of his actions. I guess that saying that once you don't hear someone's voice as frequently, you start to forget what they sound like.

For once, the ringing in his ear is gone. Just your voice, all he needed, he closed his eyes for a few soaking in the fact that you're here. For a moment he forgets to take into account that you weren't his. You and Simon make eye contact, the smile on your face drops as soon as you realize who is in your home.. who your husband invited..

Dinner came around, you tried your best to stomach the food you made, every swallow was a challenge. You spent most of your time staring at the food below you, afraid to even spare a glance at Simon. He was as uneasy as you were, telling the group he had to go to the bathroom as an excuse to explore what you now view as your home. The place you built your family together with your husband.

Simon uses the stealth he was known for to sneak in all the rooms, starting with the closest, the kitchen. The pictures on the fridge were enough to catch his attention, polaroids were something he was all too familiar with. Photos of the kids littered on the cold metal box with magnets others were of you and Kyle.

Everywhere he glances was proof of the life you built, the life you could've had together if he hadn't taken you for granted. Simon returned to the table a few minutes later, you easily notice the sudden drop of his mood to solemn.

Constantly closing his eyes, the lieutenant's head was spinning, taking in the fact that Garrick was able to settle down with you in those few years, the same amount of time you'd been together and you both were never close to achieving what you had now.

The night ended with the mens' satisfied stomachs while you and Kyle play-fight about who gets to do the dishes. As all of them were about to leave, you gathered what little guts you had to at least try to talk to Simon as he's the last one out the door, away from the ears of your husband who's currently doing the dishes because the last thing you'd want is to ruin their friendship.

"Goodbye Si.."

Simon never thought he'd hear that nickname out of your lips ever again, he stopped, his feet felt like they were sinking on the ground. Before he knew it, Simon was back on your porch, squeezing you so tight. You tried to pull away but he only held tighter, head rested on your shoulder.

"One last, lovie.. please.." you sigh, your arms wrapping around him, you tried your best to sooth him as your palm runs up and down his back. You felt the sleeve of your shirt getting damp, Simon didn't cry often, but this was different. It wasn't silent at all like you were used to, he was straight up sobbing.

Simon pulled back slowly, you saw his puffed up and flushed face against his pale skin. You felt bad for Simon however what happened is what happened and you were content where you were no matter how much pain the past brings you.

Simon knows you're happy, he sees it, he cups your cheek with his hand. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead like he always used to but he stops himself.

He wanted to be selfish, he wanted you again but he can't do that to Kyle and he knows this would only upset you so just like before, with a heavy heart he leaves.

Simon will forever let that sink into his heart, the only one he's ever love will forever be engrained in his mind. You will always be his favorite girl..

#cod x reader #aethelwyne lia writes #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost x plus size reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months ago

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The Devil at Your Window |4: One of the Good Ones|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.9k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Just a smidge of angst in this one! And I've already got a rough draft written for the next part, too! This story has been stuck in my head... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @sleepysleepymom @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza

Your arm burned from the effort with which you were currently scrubbing your kitchen counter, working hard trying to remove a stubborn stain with the sponge in your hand. On the counter just behind you, your phone was playing music as you stress-cleaned. Truthfully you were too caught up in your thoughts as you'd been frantically jumping from one task to the next to have been paying much attention to what song was currently playing, though.

You'd already vigorously deep cleaned your bathroom, scrubbing your shower hard enough to make your fingers ache. Once you'd finished in there, you'd ended up in your bedroom, finally folding the laundry basket of clothes that had been sitting in the corner of your room all week. After that, you'd changed your bedsheets before bringing the dirty ones down to the laundry facility in your building to be washed. Upon returning to your apartment, you'd begun meticulously organizing your kitchen pantry before cleaning out the kitchen sink of dirty dishes. And then you'd landed on scrubbing your counters with every intention of cleaning off your stove top next.

You'd been cleaning like crazy after you'd come home from work tonight and finished dinner because you'd had a shitty day–though really it had been a shitty week. Everything had gone absolutely wrong at the office and you'd somehow managed to make a massive mistake on a big project the other day. Thankfully today you'd corrected the error, but your anxiety over the issue hadn't remotely disappeared. And of course, Eric, the most obnoxious and irritating co-worker at your workplace, had been at the top of his game of being an absolute asshole to you about the issue all week, too. You'd admittedly had far too many daydreams of throwing your coffee on him just to shut him up these past few days.

But as if that hadn't been enough, you'd found yourself becoming increasingly upset over the realization of your growing feelings for the Devil, who you hadn't actually seen since he'd appeared injured at your place just over a week ago. You were torn between believing his absence was either because he'd been recovering from his injury–which would also explain his absence in the news lately–or that he had zero interest in continuing whatever friendship you thought you'd both been developing. And because you'd gotten your period earlier today, you'd been hormonal all week. Which meant your brain had been telling you it was because of the latter reason.

But you didn't want to think about that. It was ridiculous to have a stupid crush on him. You didn't even know the man's name or what he looked like beneath the mask. You had no clue what he did for a living, if anything at all. And you'd only seen him three times now, it's not like you'd known him for months. It was quite likely he didn't feel the same despite the flirting he'd been doing.

So that was what your brain continued to tell you this week whenever you got upset about his lack of appearances on your fire escape. That those visits hadn’t meant anything to him. You were just another person in the city he protected. His first visit had been accidental after all. And the second time was just to return the scarf he'd borrowed. The last time he had appeared had been because you'd been a convenient safe place for him to briefly stop and recover at when he'd been hurt, nothing more.

Though trying to repeatedly rationalize that didn't make the ache in your chest disappear. It didn't stop you coming home every night from work hoping to have another surprise visit from the mysterious vigilante before you went to bed. And it certainly didn't stop you from shedding a few pathetic tears when he continued to remain absent each night.

You'd begun to miss him. It was impossible to deny that now. And you'd worried about how he was doing with his injury, wondering if he really was alright. Which only had you wondering more about what he was capable of if he could meditate like that because–

“It's a bit early for spring cleaning, isn't it?”

Your hand abruptly paused mid-aggressive scrub of the stain that had long since been cleaned at the sound of the familiar and unexpected voice cutting through your thoughts. Eyes growing wide, you spun on your bare feet to find the Devil standing on the other side of your kitchen counter with a grin on his lips beneath that black mask.

“It's only February,” he teased. “Spring is still another few weeks away. Maybe show your counter a little mercy before you wear a hole in it.”

Hand gripping the soapy sponge tighter, you felt your heart nearly fly up into your throat in excitement. Because he'd come back .

“You're here,” you breathed out.

“Yeah,” he replied. He gestured a gloved hand back towards the window behind himself. “You left that unlocked, so I may have just invited myself inside since you didn't seem to respond to my knocking. I hope you don't mind.”

You shook your head quickly, still surprised to see he'd actually returned. It felt like someone had loosed a multitude of butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him standing there so casually in your apartment once again. It was something you'd missed all week.

“No, that's alright,” you told him, shaking your head. “I don't mind.”

“You should really keep it locked though,” he stated. “Literally anyone could just climb in here. That's not exactly safe.”

Still trying to shake off the surprise of his visit as you took a step forward, turning off your music, a nervous laugh slipped out of you. “I think you're the only one crazy enough to climb all the way up that rickety fire escape,” you replied.

You turned, heading over towards your kitchen sink in the hopes of busying yourself with washing your hands so he wouldn't see the embarrassing grin steadily growing on your face.

“I think you might be surprised with what the criminals will do in this city,” he countered.

“Well that's…unsettling,” you muttered, turning off the faucet and drying your hands on the nearby kitchen towel. “With the way my week has been going though I suppose it would be my luck that someone probably would climb through my window. Someone other than you, I mean.”

You set the towel back on the hook near your sink, turning around only to find the Devil had stepped around the counter and into your kitchen. He was standing a few feet away, his head tilted curiously to the side. How the hell did he always manage to move so quietly?

“You're having a bad week?” he asked. “Is that why everything smells like lemon cleaner in here and why you were scrubbing your counter so hard you couldn’t hear me knocking on the window?”

Clasping your hands together in front of yourself, you fidgeted awkwardly with your fingers. Now that your hands weren't busy with an actual task you were feeling your anxious thoughts beginning to spiral again. Especially because it was only Thursday night and you still had to go into work tomorrow and deal with Eric and everyone else when all you desperately wanted to do was crawl into bed for the duration of the weekend and pretend this week never happened.

“What's wrong, angel?” the Devil asked softly.

You glanced up at the sound of the name he’d called you just before he left your apartment last time, watching as he took another step towards you. You sniffled lightly, trying to ignore the confusing and conflicting feelings arising inside of you at the nickname. The smile disappeared from his lips, his mouth instead pulling a bit downwards at the corners. Swallowing hard, you waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Nothing, things are good,” you lied. “I'm fine.”

The frown visibly deepened on his face before he took another step closer. “Someone who's fine doesn't generally deep clean their place on a random Thursday evening,” he pointed out. “And it seems like you've been on the verge of tears for a bit now. What's going on?”

You swallowed hard, wondering how he could’ve possibly known that when he’d only just entered your apartment. Yet another one of his mysterious little powers, you figured.

“Nothing,” you answered. “Really, I’m good. I just got into a random cleaning frenzy. It happens.”

The Devil’s head canted further to the side, his lips thinning along his face. He shook his head slowly, taking another cautious step towards you.

“You’re not fine,” he replied. “And for the record, I know when someone is lying, angel.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around your chest and trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted nervously at that name again. Surely it was meant to be more of a joke than a term of endearment considering you always called him Devil.

“Another useful skill of yours?” you asked curiously. “Like your ability to heal?”

Briefly a smirk slid over his mouth, one you caught just before it disappeared. Your eyes narrowed suspiciously back at him.

“Something like that,” he answered. “So believe me when I say that I’m not buying the line that you’re okay. What happened?”

Eyes darting down, your nails began to pick at your sweatshirt nervously. The memory of your boss chewing you out at work the other day resurfaced in your mind, quickly followed by one of Eric’s heartless comments to you afterwards. The continual disappointment of an empty fire escape night after night before you went to bed also reared its head, tears starting to sting at your eyes at the memory of those lonely nights. Blinking rapidly, you tried to stop the tears from coming.

You did not want to cry in front of the Devil.

“Nothing,” you muttered, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s all stupid in comparison to what you’re usually dealing with anyway, so don’t worry about it.”

“Hey,” he murmured, closing the remaining distance between you and gently grabbing your shoulders, lowering his masked face into your line of sight. “It’s not a competition.”

His light, reassuring touch only had the tears welling up faster in your eyes. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that. With comfort and care. A touch that made you feel both safe and seen. And here he was doing it with such ease, like you deserved that sort of attention–and from him no less.

It suddenly became all too much. A single tear slipped out of the corner of your eye as you gazed up at his face half-obscured by that mask, unable to blink it back before it made its way down your cheek. The Devil’s hands carefully began pulling you in towards himself barely a second later. Surprised at his response, your arms remained wrapped around yourself as his arms slowly encircled your shoulders.

He was hugging you. Comforting you.

Somehow that managed to open the floodgates to your emotions, the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks hot and wet in a continuous stream that you couldn't seem to control. Your hands gripped your sweatshirt tighter, unsure if you should hug him in return or not. Instead, you pressed your face into the thin fabric of his black shirt, attempting to hide how fast the tears were flowing from his sight.

You weren’t exactly sure why you were even crying at this point, either. Was it because of the shitty week you’d had? Because of the gentle touch and compassion coming from the masked vigilante, a touch that you hadn’t felt since you'd last been in a relationship? Was it because of the fact that him holding you like this only stirred up those confusing feelings further inside of you, making you wonder what this weird relationship with the Devil actually was? Or was it just because you were hormonal and on your period?

“I'm sorry,” you choked out.

“Don't apologize,” he replied instantly.

The smokey voice he always used had your fingers twisting tighter around your sweatshirt, your heart beating a little harder at the sound of it so soft beside your ear. You shifted, burying your face further against his chest. Though guilt quickly filled you as you cried. Because he shouldn't be comforting you, not for something so foolish. Not when there were people out there who actually needed him and all you'd had was a bad week, some out of control hormones, and a stupid crush.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Is there something I can do to help?”

You shook your head, begging the tears to stop falling. This was embarrassing. You didn't want him to see you like this, let alone be comforting you.

“No,” you whispered.

You have better things to be doing with your time , you thought bitterly. I don't deserve the comfort.

Clenching your jaw, you took an abrupt step back from him. You raised an arm up, using the sleeve of your sweatshirt to aggressively wipe the dampness from your cheeks. Before you, the Devil stood with his arms still hovering in the air as if he was still holding you, seemingly confused about you withdrawing from his embrace so suddenly. There was a large wet spot from your tears soaking the front of his black shirt already.

“I'm sorry, that was embarrassing,” you muttered, still wiping at your eyes as the tears gradually slowed. “I know you don't want to be dealing with an emotional mess tonight. That's not what the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen does.”

“Who says it's not what I do?” he countered, his arms lowering back to his sides. “I'm here to help people who need it–and for the record,” he added, “crying does not make you an emotional mess. Trust me on that.”

“Well,” you began, sniffling a little, “my problems aren’t the type you can punch. And you can't exactly punch away my feelings. Or my hormones. So I think this is a little out of your usual wheelhouse.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, “but you've helped me plenty of times now. Is it wrong for me to want to return the favor?”

So that's why he was comforting you. A sort of quid pro quo. Tit for tat. An exchange of favors, not because he'd genuinely cared about what had happened to you this week and would have offered to help anyway, but because he felt like he owed you something in return. That's what he was saying, wasn’t it?

“I don't help you because I want anything in return,” you muttered, turning around and wiping the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your eyes once again. Afterwards, you reached up into a nearby cabinet and grabbed a clean glass from out of it. “I help you because I worry about you out there. And because I think you're one of the good ones.”

You closed the cabinet door before focusing on the faucet in front of you, filling the glass with cool water. Sniffling softly, you felt the tears beginning to slow to a stop as you tried to collect yourself. You’d cry about your misplaced feelings later when he wasn’t here. Right now you just wanted to enjoy his company and not scare him off with your tears. And maybe make sure he was doing alright himself tonight.

Once the glass was full, you turned off the faucet and inhaled a trembling breath, attempting to steel your resolve. You were not going to cry anymore tonight.

“For what it's worth,” the Devil said from behind you, “I think you're one of the good ones.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at his comment, your back still facing him. Now that sounded like a line.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “How many people would help a vigilante instead of turning him over to the police? And how many would just ignore him entirely? And here you are inviting me into your home multiple times now without question. Always offering whatever form of assistance you can when you certainly don't need to.”

Eyes dropping down to the full glass in your hands, you felt your heart flutter in your chest at his kind words. Clearing your throat, you tried to swallow the lump that had begun to form. “I think you vastly underestimate what you mean to the people in this city, Devil,” you whispered.

Gradually you turned back around, the glass of water clutched between both of your hands. His lips were once again pulled in a straight line across his face, his head faintly tilted to the side.

“You're a symbol of hope to many in Hell’s Kitchen,” you said softly, extending the glass out towards him. “A sign that there’s still good in the world. That there are still people who care about helping those in need.”

You could see the muscles working in his cheeks, the corner of his lips twitching faintly. You wondered what expression he was making beneath the mask right now. Was he not aware of what he meant to this city?

“Here,” you said, holding the glass out further towards him. “Drink it. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

The Devil’s right hand flexed open and shut at his side for a moment, your eyes drawn to the movement. After a minute's hesitation you saw it raise, reaching out to carefully accept the glass of water from your own hand. He murmured a soft ‘thanks’ as he drew it up towards his lips. In silence you watched the bob of his throat as he drank almost half the glass immediately, a satisfied smile eventually landing on your face.

“You hungry?” you asked, stepping around him and heading over to your fridge. “I have spaghetti leftover from dinner tonight. Unfortunately no garlic bread,” you grumbled, opening the door of your fridge. “Because my week was apparently so bad that I even forgot to grab garlic bread at the store.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he assured you.

Half bent in front of your fridge, you glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a flat look. “Are you planning to go home and eat something before you go to sleep tonight?” you asked him. “From the fridge you have apparently only stocked with beer, eggs, and sometimes orange juice?”

He hung his head in defeat, his gaze behind the mask appearing to drop to the floor. It looked like he was fighting back a grin on his face.

“Well…no,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Right,” you said, focus returning to the contents of your fridge. “So do you eat spaghetti? Because I have plenty.”

“If you’re that determined to feed me, yes,” he answered. “I do.”

Reaching into your fridge, you pulled out the container of leftovers that you’d put away earlier this evening before you’d begun meticulously stress cleaning. You closed the door, bringing the container over to your counter and setting it down before searching for a clean bowl and a fork.

“So how’s your rib doing?” you asked as you worked. “Did your doctor friend tell you it was broken? Have you somehow meditated it back to normal already with that useful ‘skill’ of yours?”

The Devil chuckled good-naturedly behind you as you began scooping some pasta into a bowl for him. Internally you thought it strange that he found that somehow funny, though that warmth of pleasure filled you at once again still being able to make him laugh.

“She's a nurse, not a doctor, and that's hard to say,” he answered. “I’d need an x-ray to know if I had actually broken it, and I can’t exactly go to a hospital because they’d surely call the authorities on me. But either way, it’s feeling better than that night I was last here. Not completely healed with my ‘skill,’ but the pain is…tolerable.”

You stopped mid-scoop of some pasta, your head turning over your shoulder towards him. Quirking a brow at him, you shot him a quizzical look.

“The pain is ‘tolerable’?” you asked him. “So you mean to tell me you’re still going around tonight scaling buildings and jumping off fire escapes with an injury that’s not even fully healed?”

The Devil shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly, shooting you a charming smile. “Yeah,” he answered. “Something is almost always injured or hurting. But it's not like crime ever takes a night off. So usually neither do I.”

Sighing, you focused back on scooping pasta into the bowl for him. “I'm starting to worry about your sanity,” you half-joked. “You know, I've always wondered why you do what you do. I don't suppose you'd answer that truthfully, would you?”

Picking up the bowl, you stepped over towards your microwave and set it inside. Setting the timer to heat it up, you turned around and leant your back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed him expectantly.

The Devil shook his head, a faint smile on his mouth. “No, not right now,” he answered. “But maybe someday I could answer that for you.”

Hugging your arms tighter around yourself, you tried to hide the thrill that shot through you at his answer. The prospect of him continuing to visit you was clearly layered in his response and you couldn't even begin to explain how that made you suddenly feel.

“Always so mysterious,” you muttered nervously, glancing down at your feet.

“Don't suppose you'd ever give me your name, would you?” he countered.

You grinned, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as the microwave hummed behind you. “I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours, Devil,” you replied.

“So mysterious ,” he teased back, grinning.

You tried to bite back the smile growing on your face, laughing softly. The grin only grew wider on his face and your cheeks began to heat at the sight. You could feel your heart beating a little faster as you watched him from across the kitchen, taking in the handsome shape of his mouth and feeling the nervous churning of your stomach beginning to increase at the comfortable silence that fell over you both.

Thankfully your microwave beeped a moment later, pulling you from the moment that surely would have only resulted in you further ogling him, wondering what he looked like beneath the mask. Turning around, you opened the microwave and removed the bowl of spaghetti. You set it back onto the counter, mixing it around with a fork to make sure the entire bowl had been thoroughly heated. Satisfied that it was warm, you picked up the bowl and carried it over to the Devil.

“You can have a seat at the table if you want,” you offered, holding the bowl out to him.

You gestured your other hand to the small circular table just outside of your kitchen. The Devil accepted the bowl of pasta from you, looking somewhat over his shoulder where you'd gestured.

“Thank you,” he replied.

You watched as he twirled a handful of noodles onto his fork immediately, bringing it up to his mouth before he'd even began to make his way towards your table. It was obvious he was hungry with the way he'd shoveled the bite into his mouth–just like when he'd devoured that burrito–and that satisfied smile returned to your face. Even if you'd messed up a lot of things this week, at least you'd managed to do something helpful for him. And that felt good.

You'd been about to turn around and put away the container of leftovers still sitting out on your counter when you saw him suddenly freeze, his entire body tensing. Your own body froze as you watched him chew the bite of food so slowly, your stomach sinking to the floor.

“What?” you asked cautiously, feeling self-conscious and on the verge of tears again. Had you actually somehow messed this up, too? “Is it…not good? I mean I know I'm not the best cook or anything, but I thought I was decent at making spaghetti sauce. It's not that complicated.”

The Devil swallowed the bite of spaghetti, his body still stiff as he stood there. His hand had tightened around the fork in the bowl as he remained silent, which only had your nerves growing. The feeling of being a failure once again this week was suddenly bearing down heavily on you. Was there nothing you could do right this week?

“Look, if it doesn't taste any good you don't need to eat it,” you told him, taking a step closer and reaching for the bowl. “Apparently I just can't manage anything this week. Just one of those weeks I gu–”

“This tastes exactly like the spaghetti my dad used to make,” the Devil whispered in disbelief.

Your hand hovered in the air reaching out for the bowl, your mouth hanging open at what he'd told you. That certainly hadn't been the reaction you'd expected.

“Wh–what?” you stammered out.

The Devil pointed at the bowl of pasta with the fork in his hand, something like amazement creeping into his voice as he focused on you. When he spoke again, you'd noticed that raspy, deep voice he always used had disappeared.

“The sauce,” he told you, his words gradually picking up speed as he spoke. “It tastes exactly like the spaghetti sauce my dad used to make when I was a kid. I–I haven't tasted anything quite so similar since he passed when I was young. The likeness is incredible.”

You could feel the heavy pounding of your heart in your chest at yet another little piece of the real man beneath the mask being revealed to you. Mouth opening and closing a few times, you quickly realized you didn't know how to respond. Was he going to run away on you now that he'd let another little personal detail slip? Especially considering it looked like he was also realizing what he'd just told you and was beginning to regret it.

“I'm–I'm sorry to hear about your father,” you managed out.

The Devil continued to stare at you over the bowl of spaghetti in his hands, his lips pressing together as his mouth began to twitch. It was as if he didn't quite know what to say himself, but the longer he remained quiet, his jaw grinding back and forth, the more fearful you became that he was going to bolt back out of your window for accidentally revealing more personal information about himself to you.

Slowly you held up your hands in front of yourself like one might do to a scared animal, hoping not to scare him further. The Devil didn't move, but his jaw visibly tensed at the gesture.

“Look, I'm not about to tell anyone that you come here sometimes,” you told him. “And I don't go digging around on the internet trying to find out who you really are with the vague information I have, mostly because I don't have that level of motivation, if I'm being honest.” You saw the corner of his lips twitch upwards at your comment and you cautiously lowered your hands back to your sides. “I just want to help. That's all,” you continued. “And personally I worry that if I scare you off, you'll end up out there starving and with kidney damage from constantly not drinking enough water while you're out parkouring around the city.”

“You're worried about my kidneys now?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

You shrugged lamely, shooting him a small smile. “If I say yes will you sit down and eat that spaghetti and drink some more water?” you questioned back. “Instead of jumping out of my window like a terrified cat?”

Something like an amused snort came from him as he turned, making his way towards your little kitchen table. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to disappear on you.

“For the record,” the Devil told you, voice muffled around a large bite of spaghetti that he'd shoveled into his mouth, “I am not a stray cat.”

“Of course not,” you agreed, picking up the glass of water he'd already finished and set onto the counter. You brought it over to your sink and began to refill it for him. “Because a cat would know better than to keep running around and making a broken rib worse. And I'm not sure how partial they are to spaghetti,” you joked.

At the bright sound of his laughter over the sound of the running faucet, you found yourself smiling. You'd certainly missed having him here, even if you knew you were going to miss him the moment he finished that bowl of spaghetti and jumped back over your fire escape. All you could really do was enjoy the next few minutes you had with him and hope that he returned another time.

Though deep down you sort of found yourself hoping he was more like a stray cat than he let on, because at the very least, maybe the prospect of food and water would tempt him to appear again at your window sooner rather than later.

And that thought was steadily giving you an idea.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil

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phantomspiderr · 2 years ago

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Always

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, look i think Marc would be into Formula 1, is that just because I love F1... maybe?, sleepy!reader, soft!Marc🥰

a/n: 😬… I’m backkkkkkkk. Not that I think anyone noticed I was gone but I started anxiety meds and they've taken some getting used to. But I opened up my drafts the other day and found this and finished it, so essentially I started making it, had a breakdown... bon appetite?

(not my gif)

The other side of the bed’s cold, your hand swipes across the empty space in search of the warmth that is normally there. Your sleep-addled mind pauses to think—had your boyfriend even come to bed? What time was it? Is that noise in your head? Slowly, you pull yourself up from the warm cocoon of the duvet and your hands rub at your face in an attempt to erase the sleep that still clings to you. Blinking a few times you try to adjust your eyes to being open again as your hands fall into your lap. You can just make out some light in between the gaps in the bookshelf that separates the bed from the rest of the room. Your tired eyes look to his side of the bed again, still empty and the alarm clock shines the time a little too brightly, 6:22am. Reluctantly you move your stiff legs, pushing the warm duvet off of them and whining a little as the cold air in the flat hits them. You pull yourself out of the bed, immediately grabbing the blanket from the end of the mattress to wrap around yourself. The noise you’d heard becomes clearer now, it sounds like someone talking but it’s fast and all mushes together in your head. You take steps toward it, rounding the bookshelf to find exactly what you were missing.

“Hey,” Marc’s voice comes out in a whisper and he sits up the second his eyes clock you, his hand reaching for the tv remote immediately. The volume goes down with each push of the button, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You keep taking slow steps towards him, passing in front of the tv and going around the coffee table until you reach the couch.

“Are you okay?” You completely disregard his question in favour of asking your own as you sit next to him, he nods whispering out a yeah and so you move your body to lay down, placing your head in his lap.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” you look up at him as he speaks. One of his hands comes to rest on top of your head, “plus there’s a race on.” He looks back to the tv and you follow his gaze, twisting until you lie completely on your side.

“What’s a red flag?” Your head turns so you can look at him again briefly, a little smile graces his face and then you go back to staring at the screen, trying to understand why in the middle of a race none of the cars are moving.

“One of the drivers went into the barrier and they have to stop the race to clean it up before they continue. It just means it’s not safe for anyone to be on the track,” Marc explains it so gently, no annoyance or condescension crosses his tone for your lack of knowing.

“Are they okay?” There’s a slight hint of worry and you almost sound like a scared child.

“Yeah sweetheart, look, that's Albon there.” He points towards the screen and you watch as it briefly shows a young-looking guy speaking with someone else, “it was his car that hit the barrier but he got out of it straight away.”

For a minute it’s quiet, you both just watch the screen as it shows different people. Marc had turned the volume up a bit and you could make out what the commentators were saying now they’d slowed down their talking. Without any prompting, Marc starts to quietly tell you who everyone is every time the picture changes to someone new. He shares little pieces of knowledge with every name and you find listening to him soothing. You knew he sometimes watched these races but you’d never really taken the time to sit down and watch one with him. You’re starting to regret never doing it before, you’d been missing out on this beautiful opportunity to get to know his interests better.

Ultimately, though that tiredness still clings to your mind and the way his voice is quietly lulling you makes you think of the times when Steven reads you to sleep. Just as the race starts up again, your eyes begin to feel heavy, the blinks start getting slower and longer. You’re unsure if Marc’s noticed because he keeps calmly explaining what’s happening as it happens. His fingers had absentmindedly started rubbing circles into your scalp which was not helping the way you were quickly slipping back into your sleeping state. The tv eventually disappears, and your eyes are finally sealed shut again but some conscious part of your brain can still make out the race commentary in the background alongside Marc’s soothing voice.

The next thing you know it’s daylight, the sun shines brightly through the uncovered windows. It hurts your eyes when they open and instinctively you turn your body away from it, glad when you’re met with darkness. You comfortably bury your face into the warmth of Marc’s stomach while trying your best to stretch your stiff limbs without really putting much effort into it. You take in a deep breath before just relaxing for a moment. Your mind slowly wakes as you lay there, coherent thoughts begin to form and you start to feel more awake with each passing second. You could’ve sworn you’d only been asleep for a few minutes. The tv is still making quiet noise in the background and you can feel Marc taking slow deep breaths.

Once your brain has managed to come back to some semblance of consciousness, you slowly pull yourself to sit up on the couch. The sight you’re met with makes your heart melt it doesn’t matter how many times you wake up next to him, each time feels like the first. He looks so peaceful, his head propped on his fist that leans on the arm of the couch. Eyes closed, hair sticking around every which way and lips slightly parted. You admire him for a minute before you think about how much his neck is going to hurt after sleeping in this position. As slowly as you can you twist yourself around again and stand, taking a second for your brain to catch up with your body’s movements. Then gently you tuck your hands under his knees, pulling on the deadweight and turning them to rest on the couch. All the movement rouses Marc from his sleep, the top half of his body reluctantly following the bottom with a grumble.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.” Quietly you shush him as he continues to wiggle around until he’s settled down on the couch where you were just laying. The crease in his eyebrow slowly relaxes as your fingers comb through his hair, you’re crouched next to him trying to push him back into his little slumber. A long sigh comes from deep within his chest and you just know he’s back in dreamland. With a gentle kiss to his temple, you stand again, grabbing the blanket that had fallen to the floor at some point and draping it over his body. Satisfied with how much more comfortable he looks now you go to pull yourself away to shower and maybe start on breakfast—or maybe brunch at this point, but a hand grazes your leg.

“Stay,” the mumble of a plea falls past his lips as his hand blindly searches for yours. Without a second thought, you give in, encouraging him to lift his head so you can slip back onto the couch. Thoughts of how good a shower would be right now or of what to cook to rid the rumble in your stomach disappear completely. Now you sit with Marc’s head in your lap, mirroring the exact position you’d both been in just moments prior. You take a long moment to just watch him, the way he nuzzles his head into your thighs and how relaxed he looks for a change. Then you’re thinking about how happy he makes you. How lucky you feel to be a part of this moment and how you only ever want to be right here with him, always.

#moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #moonknight #moon knight system

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nervocat · 7 months ago

Note

hii a request for you :

receiving a ‘strange’ gift (like the chopsticks/ladle) from zhongli + neuvi ? the gift itself is up to you :) (btw i love that neuvi ladle so damn much ,, )

no pressure ofc just want to see what you’ll write ^^

“A ‘Strange’ Gift to be Received.” (no cws - wc: 386, romantic/platonic (tho it's romantic leaning)/fluff, gn reader)

Zhongli, he wasn't exactly the wealthiest or well known man, but you loved him all the same. Especially the little gifts he gives you from time to time with the money he does have.

He likes to give you things he buys he thinks you'll like, but Zhongli likes to give you food above all. He likes to cook, so why not give you some?

You come home to a warm plate of food on the counter — your favorite, nonetheless — and see Zhongli cleaning up some stuff.

“Zhongli? You made food for me again??” you inquire, slipping off your shoes. The former Archon looks up to you and smiles, a gentle look in his gold eyes.

“I did. Come — I'd hate for the food to become cold,” he invites, to which you accept with a nod as you hop up on the chair and start eating. The foods taste washes over your taste buds as you eat, the food being as good as ever.

“I’m assuming you like it, [name]?” Zhongli asks. You swallow and beam at him.

“I do, Zhongli. Your food will always be a gift to eat.”

Despite Neuvillette not exactly knowing how to show his appreciation for the ones he holds dear, he wasn't so clueless to how he could express himself (kind of). He liked to give you gifts — and you loved receiving them. Said gifts were seashells, to be exact.

You've decided to have this little jar of the seashells he gives you. You can tell that some of them are bought while some he found himself, which is what most of them are from.

Maybe you could go seashell searching with him once? You think it'd be a fun idea.

You wake up, rubbing your eyes and stretching. You turn over to look at your bedside table and see a seashell — a very pretty one at that.

It was simple. A pretty, slightly dirty white color with some sand still on it. You smiled tiredly at the shell. You grabbed the shell to look at it, the shell glimmering in the orange rays of sun coming through your window and curtains.

You get up to put it in a safe spot, making sure you're gentle with it. Maybe you should return the favor and give him a shell as well?

[ ★ - notes . It was a bit bittersweet to write this and look at the final result honestly bc I feel so bad writing this after Dumbi deactivated (even tho this was changed to anon), but it's done! It's just been sitting in my drafts probably for abt half a year but I think it turned out pretty good ^^ it's also been a bit since I've written for genshin so if anything is ooc, that's totally on me 😭😭 and I might've written this more romantic leaning but I tried not to 😞😞 ]

#🗯️ — ⌗nervos works . ★#��️ — ⌗dumbi . ★#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x gn reader #neuvillette x reader #zhongli x gn reader #zhongli x reader

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coryosbaby · 2 years ago

Text

Barry (Outer Banks) with Bimbo! Reader

(NSFW)

Was cleaning out tha drafts n found this. Barry is actually so underrated and so fine 😜

Warning: mentions of daddy kink, tummy bulge, praising, sub! Reader, dom! Barry, dumbification, size kink

Okay this dude is fuckin scary

but you feel safe with him

You both met when he became ur neighbor

You saw him around and u asked him to fix ur car

he obv accepts

instantly flirts with you

“Free of charge for such a pretty girl” (you blush so much, and dumbly reply “you think I’m pretty?” and he jus grins at you)

so you let him fix your car like every time it messes up

you two grow sort of close

you see him outside one night and ask for a hit of the joint he was holding

you two get high with each other a lot

You kiss him one night, stupidly intoxicated and horny . His hand slides under ur cute lil skirt and that’s jus how it is from then on

You start going over to his house

after 9 pm tho

Cus he established this rule to the ppl he sells to not to come past 9

fucks you on every surface

big dick

loves seeing his cock in your tummy <3

spends his money on you all the time even if it means not being able to pay the bills

Praises 💖💖

“You’re doing so good, little one. just like that, goin’ so dumb on my cock, aren’t you?”

love holding him close to you n feeling his weight

he’s such a big teddy bear for you <333

jus wants you to be safe

would kill for you n hurts anyone who disrespects you

explains a lot of things to you bc ur too dumb to understand <333

kisses your little clit every time he goes down on you >:(

SO GOOD W HIS HANDS LEMME TELL YOU

he loves trying to fit all five of his fingers in your tight little snatch

he’ll never admit it, but he always makes sure his trailer is at least a lil bit presentable b4 you come over bc he doesn’t want you thinking low of him

aftercare is a must :)) spoils you as much as he can, holds you close n tells you how good u were 4 him

Goes CRAZY when you call him daddy for the first time

“Say that again, angel. Fuuuuuck yes, daddy’s gonna take such good care of this little cunt..”

trains your pretty throat to take his big cock whenever and wherever he likes

#Barry benson #Barry obx #Barry outer banks #outer banks #obx #Barry benson x reader #Barry (outer banks) x reader #bimbo! reader #barry (outer banks) x bimbo! reader

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 10 months ago

Text

The Plan [Marcus Pike x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x you/cishet f!reader. Reader is fat/overweight but this is never explicitly mentioned. Also, reader is a lawyer. (I know nothing about lawyering.)

Tags/Warnings: Sad Marcus, alcohol mention, one night stands, fellatio mention, neighbours with benefits, safe sex, squirting, cunnilingus, reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mad dash through the airport at Christmas, trauma dumping (Marcus coming clean about his disappointment after Lisbon dumped him).

Summary: A drunken one night stand with your cute new neighbour Marcus Pike eventually leads to more. Takes place after his story arc in the show.

Words: 7,895

A/N: My first Marcus Pike fic, and also I finished a goddamn fic! There is so much cause for celebration here, folks. Remember to comment and reblog: sharing is caring.

Shout-out to @missredherring and @pazizz who read drafts and helped me forward with this story <3

Marcus Pike does not have a bitter disposition. He does not sulk, or harbor resentment. It's just not in his nature.

Until now.

There is just something so unforgivable, incomprehensible, wrong about the way Teresa Lisbon left him. She called him to say she was coming to D.C., that she would marry him, and two hours later she called again to inform him that she wasn't. That she was in love with Patrick Jane. That asshole.

Marcus has been divorced, and not even that made him spiral as hard as the breakup from Teresa. It just hit harder, because he had fallen so hard for her, for the way she dipped her gaze and chin when a smile broke out on her lips, before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He fell for her sense of humor, her intelligence, the way it was so easy to be with her. And he really thought that she fell for him in the same way. Maybe she did - but Jane was there, in the background, confusing her, wooing her with one last big, desperate gesture. If Marcus had known that all it took to keep Teresa was to get himself arrested, he would've done that instead of bringing her takeout at work, making her morning coffee just as she liked it, loaning her his jacket when she was cold during that date, all the thousands of little things that he did for her, that he loved doing for her because he loved her so much that doing those things weren't a chore, they weren't planned, they were an honest, spontaneous expression of his feelings for her.

And then, one big, desperate gesture that rendered Marcus's all small, everyday gestures moot. And it pisses him off.

Practicality kicked in as a form of survival. He quickly cancelled the purchase of the house he had Teresa had picked out, found a condo instead, moved in with his things, and threw himself into his work. Most of the boxes were left unpacked. His place didn't feel like a home because he couldn't let it. He was supposed to share one with Teresa, and now there was just him, surrounded by moving boxes that he had to deal with but couldn't, wouldn't. What should've been a house for the two of them - maybe more in the future? - with a little garden, walls impregnated with love and excitement for a life together, sunlight through the window during long weekend mornings of slow breakfasts, putting up Christmas decorations together, all those things that he was looking forward to. Now he has a bachelor pad, in a fancy apartment building with a doorman, but a sad bachelor pad all the same. The furniture is more or less where it should be, but he hasn't bothered to plan that much. The kitchen table is too big, but he's not in any condition to sell it off and buy a new one. The bookcases are half full, and his artwork is still unhung. He really tried there, but the first painting he got his hands on was one that he had seen before him in the spacious yet cozy living-room in That House, with the fireplace, and suddenly no wall in his apartment was good enough. So he put the painting away, and the rest were left packed down.

He even started going out after work, when he couldn't stay any longer but didn't want to go home. He found a watering hole to his liking, and became a regular, nursing one whiskey after another until he could go home and fall into bed for a deep, dreamless sleep.

It's after one of those nights that he finds you, his neighbor, trying to open his front door with your key. Your clumsy yet meticulous movements tell him that you're intoxicated, and there is something endearing about the way you're frowning, the tip of your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth as you focus on sticking in the key that doesn't fit.

When Marcus comes closer, you notice him, and look up. Quickly registering that it's the workaholic neighbor that you rarely see, you just nod, and go back to trying to open the door.

"That's my door," he says, and you look up again.

"What's that?"

"That's my door. You're trying to get into my apartment."

You frown, your hand holding the key falling to your side as you process his words. You then squint at the number of the door, taking a few seconds to realize that this is, indeed, not your front door.

"Oops," you mutter, then grimace apologetically at your neighbor. "Well, this isn't embarrassing at all."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugs, fishing his own key from his pocket. You step to the side to give him access to the door, and when he stands right next to you, you can smell his cologne, sophisticated and with a hint of bergamot.

He eyes you, just as drunk as you are.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Late night. You?"

"Same." He looks so tired when he says it, but you can tell that there is a dimple aching to appear in his cheek. His face, bleary though it is, is handsome, and looks like it was made for smiling.

"What is it you do again?" you ask. You've exchanged pleasantries with him when he first moved in, but you never had the time or mental capacity to actually remember who he is.

"FBI, I investigate art theft."

"Ah, right." Yeah, that's it, something so unusual and random that one couldn't make it up. Then again, D.C. is full of people who do stuff you only hear about in movies.

"Marcus," he offers his hand, and you take it, and give him your name.

"And what is it that you do?"

"Law. I work with government contracts and related investigations at a law firm here in D.C."

"Sounds complicated."

You shrug. "I'm smart enough."

"You look good, too."

You scoff. "Are you coming on to me?"

"I'm trying." Now the smile breaks through, lighting up his whole face. Gods, but he's cute.

"Okay." You make the decision quickly, nodding at his door. "Looks like I picked the right door, after all."

Marcus unlocks the door and opens it for you.

His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry when he wakes up. For a moment, he doesn't know what day it is, what he's supposed to do, or what happened last night, but then the flashbacks start to put things together. The flirty neighbor. Her naked skin. Her alcohol-fuming kisses.

He turns his head and sees you, still asleep next to him. Oh, okay.

Sitting up slowly, he gets his bearings before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor. Right next to the bed is a used condom, tied up and looking sad and abandoned. Okay, good, at least he remembered to use protection. He picks it up and takes it to the bathroom, where he disposes of it before washing his hands and face.

He hears the rustle of bedsheets, and returns to the bedroom, realizing that he's naked. You might not want to be greeted by a naked stranger first thing. Looking around for his underwear, he's nevertheless too slow in finding them: you're already sitting up and rubbing your forehead.

He clears his throat. "Good morning."

Your smile is a little lopsided. "Morning."

"You want breakfast?" Marcus immediately offers, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing before he sends you off so that he can take about ten aspirins, and go to work. "And I'll put out a clean towel for you so that you can use the shower."

"Appreciate it, but I live right next door," you point out as you get out of bed. You're as naked as he is, and Marcus tries very hard not to ogle your body for what he suspects will be the last time.

"I don't mind."

"Thanks, but I have to get to work." You pick up and put on your panties, bra, skirt, shirt. Marcus spots his boxer briefs, and pulls them on.

"Okay, well... I had a good time."

"I did too."

Now you're standing right in front of him, buttoning up your silk shirt. Even with your makeup smudged out, and terrible morning breath, you look really nice.

"I gotta ask you something, though, because my memory is a little... hazy." Your cheekbones seem to glow, and he realizes that you're blushing.

"Yeah?"

"I sucked your dick, didn't I?"

Marcus feels the heat rise to his ears. "Um... well... yes, you did."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Did I do it well?"

"I think so."

You grin at him. "You don't remember much either, do you?"

"It was all consensual, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that." You surprise him by placing your hand on his naked chest. His heart skips a beat, and he hopes that you won't notice.

"I really have to go, but maybe I'll see you again soon?" you ask softly, and Marcus finds himself relaxing.

"I'd like that."

You even kiss him good-bye, a quick, closed-mouth peck to keep morning breaths from mixing, before you grab your shoes, your purse (muttering under your breath about several emails, and two missed calls), and head over next door.

Marcus, still only wearing his underwear, looks thoughtfully at the closed door for a long while before going into the kitchen with the too big table to make coffee.

Work occupies most of your waking hours, six days a week, often seven. You don't see Marcus again for weeks, don't hear any sounds from his apartment during the hours you're home and awake. Barely having time to think about him, your thoughts nevertheless stray to him when you're standing in the shower or going to bed at night. You haven't been able to fit a boyfriend into your life in a long time, and casual hook-ups have rarely left you satisfied, but even with your hazy memories of the night with Marcus, you left his apartment that morning with a feeling that it was good. So that's where your thoughts go when you touch yourself, the few times you have the energy to do so.

One Friday night, after a long but satisfying week that ended with a contract being accepted as it was, which meant you could have a weekend with only a couple of hours of work from home, you're hurrying home with Chinese takeout in a bag. Looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, with an early morning at the gym the following day, you run into Marcus on your way into your apartment building.

"Hi," you smile, immediately noticing how he seems to square his shoulders when he sees you. "Going out?"

"Yeah," he nods, moving his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your food bag. "And you're staying in?"

"Finally, a Friday night without work," you acknowledge. Marcus's smile lets you know that he knows about that all too well.

"Enjoy."

"You too, you going somewhere nice?"

"No, I mean... I'm just going by myself."

There is something so despondent about the way he averts his eyes when confessing to going out alone. You're not in a position to start saving people, but you see an opening here.

"Join me for dinner instead, Marcus."

"I don't want to bother you."

"It's no bother," you shake your head, now moving towards the elevator while beckoning him to follow you. "Come on, before the food gets cold. There's enough here for two, I always buy extra."

He hesitates for only a split second, you can see it in how his body seems to pull him away, out to some sad bar with too much to drink. Instead, he nods, smiles softly, and follows you. He insists on bringing a bottle of wine from his place, and you accept.

You find out more about him that night, as you share your takeout with him, and he shares his wine. He tells you of heartache, only summarily, clearly not wanting you to feel sorry for him, but you can tell that he's been torn up about the "amicable" break-up. He also mentions that he's been married, and you wonder what's wrong with him. He seems perfectly nice and normal, why hasn't he been able to keep a woman? To his credit, he never complains about nice guys finishing last, only states that maybe he's meant to focus on his career.

"There's a lot to be said about having a good career," you agree. Marcus sips his wine with a small smile.

"Work doesn't break your heart."

"That, too."

"I take it you don't have a partner who'll suddenly come home to find me in his kitchen?" he jokes lightly, but you recognize the question for what it is: he wants to know if you're Seeing Anyone.

"Not one for relationships," you shrug.

"You don't long for anyone to snuggle up with in front of the TV on a Friday night?"

"I don't have time. And they never seem to understand that. Or they're working, too." You pick at the scraps in your takeout box with the chopsticks. "And I seem to attract douchebags. Dunno if it comes with the field in which I work. I always seem to go out with terrible lawyer guys."

Marcus chuckles. "Their loss."

"I miss having sex, though." You look him in the eye, and his tongue slides over his lower lip, catching some runaway sauce.

"Yeah?"

You nod, and feel your cheeks heat up. You're a no-nonsense person, but not always this forward with men. But it's easy with Marcus. He takes it all in stride, doesn't seem to think you're aggressive, or slutty, he just smiles and tells you that he misses sex too.

"But what we had was okay, though?" he adds. "Even if neither one of us seems to remember it that well."

"It was," you agree, raising the glass to your lips and draining the rest of the wine. After putting it back down, you tilt your head and bite your lower lip.

"You wanna do it again? Now that we're sober and all?"

"I'm a little tipsy," he warns you with a chuckle, "But I'm in."

Both of you get up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor simultaneously in the kitchen that mirrors his own but has a table that fits it. All of your apartment just fits in a way his half-assed dwelling doesn't. He realizes that it's because your apartment is a home, decorated and lived-in, warm colors and fabrics, Scandinavian wallpapers in bold but tasteful patterns that he himself would never consider but that feel right here.

You step up to him, snugly fitting yourself to his frame, and place your hands on his narrow hips as you kiss him. The two glasses of wine that you've had have laid a warm, cozy blanket over your busy mind, and now you're fully focused on Marcus, whose soft, plump lips are meeting yours as his arms go around your waist.

You make your way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you kiss and get undressed, get undressed and kiss. The bed in unmade, you just threw the covers to the side when you got up this morning. Wearing only your underwear, you lay down, pull Marcus over you, rake your fingers through his hair, moan when he palms your plump tits through the bra.

"Tell me what you like," he asks you hoarsely. You hum when he scatters kisses along the lace trim of your bra.

"That's a good start."

He hums back as he pops your tits out of your bra and lick around the nipples.

"Go on," he asks, and a shiver runs down your spine at the low barytone of his voice. You reach around to unhook your bra, and Marcus takes it off you and flings it to the side before burying his face between your breasts.

"You eat pussy?" you ask him breathlessly, and he looks up at you.

"Of course."

"Not everybody does," you wink, and he shakes his head.

"Their loss."

He's in a hurry, you note, but it's endearing in an unexpected way. When he pulls down your panties and gets settled, your legs over his shoulders, you remember to give him a warning.

"I, uh, I don't orgasm from oral, just so you know."

"Really?" His breath is hot against your folds, but he's looking up at you with attentive eyes.

"Yeah. It's not a comment on your skills, I just need you to know it," you shrug, accustomed to always having to tread carefully around the matter. Too many men get offended or take it as a challenge.

"Thanks for telling me," Marcus smiles in a way that's way too innocent and adorable for a man who's got his face inches away from your pussy. "But do you really want me to...?"

"Oh God, yes!" you reassure him. "I enjoy it a lot, and it gets me wet. I just can't cum, I need vaginal stimulation for that."

"You got it," he pats your thigh lightly before his tongue connects with your folds, and your eyes fall shut as you hand yourself over to the pleasure, to Marcus's deftly dancing tongue. He's good, he's attentive and eager, yet you don't get the feeling that he's trying to prove you wrong, to make you orgasm. Lord knows men have tries that in the past, and it's just stressful. No, he just seems to enjoy your moans, the way you writhe and grab his hands, the twitches of your pelvis when he does something extraordinary.

"Goddddd, Marcus, that's so fucking good..." you wail when he alternates between sucking your clit and licking it with a quick tongue. He's getting louder, sloppier, and you know you're dripping. Your clit is throbbing, and you know this is the perfect time to speed things up. You push him away, your thighs closing around his head, and Marcus retreats, chin glistening as he licks his lips.

"You okay?" he wants to know. You nod, breathless and with a pounding heart.

"Need to fuck you."

He scrambles up for a deep kiss, wet and lewd, before you push him over to get a condom from your nightstand. He drapes himself over you as you stretch across the bed, and peppers your back with kisses, like he's unable to stay away from you. You roll around, finding yourself caged between his strong arms, and you pull him down for more kissing with lips swollen and dry but still wanting more.

"How do you want me?" he gasps between the kisses as you pull down his underwear and paw at his small butt.

"Can I be on top?"

He rolls over onto his back immediately, watching you with open-mouth excitement when you remove his shorts and put on the rubber. When you finally sink down on his length, his fingers dig into your thighs as his breath hitches.

"Oh, that feels good..."

"Uh-huh," you sigh, staying still for a moment to adjust to his cock inside of you. You smile inwardly as you find yourself thinking about just how perfectly sized it is: thick but not too long.

"What?"

Your eyes open to find Marcus grinning at you.

"What what?" you grin back. He caresses your hips slowly.

"You looked like you had something to say."

"I was just thinking about what a perfect, gorgeous dick you have."

His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. It came with the body."

You chuckle and start a slow grind, hips moving lazily back and forth as you seek out the right spots, the right rhythm. Finding it, you plant your hands on Marcus's chest and let out a low moan as you go slightly faster.

"That right for you?" he huffs, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth.

"Mmmfuckyes..."

You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, fingers seeking out your clit. Pleasure zaps through your body when you rub it, and you clench tightly around Marcus, causing him to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, both of you groaning.

"So good," he gripes, soothing the sting of his fingertips by rubbing his palms over the affected areas before he moves his fingers to your front. "Need a hand?"

"'m good," you gasp, your free arm slinging around his neck. You clench around him again, and Marcus's hips jut upwards, slamming into you with a force that makes you choke.

"Fuck! God, Marcus, that was..."

"Can we try something?" he pants, pulling you in for a kiss. "Please?"

"Okay?" you frown, a little frustrated at being interrupted, but Marcus gestures for you to rise, so you do as he asks, and let him pull you down with him.

"Get on top of me again, but lie down," he instructs you. You must look doubtful because he immediately adds:

"Just try it, if you don't like it, we can go back to what you were doing."

"I'll try anything once," you shrug, and get on top of him again, this time with your back turned to him. Marcus pulls you down, positioning you on top of him, legs spread, his own legs on the outside of yours. You hesitate for a second, the reality of your weight sometimes haunting your mind, but Marcus insists.

"Just come here, baby," he tells you softly, so you let him take your weight. One of his arms sneaks up the side of your ribcage to cup a breast. With the other, he guides himself into you, pushing himself in with an upward thrust of his hips. You choke on your breath and let your head hang back on his shoulder, one arm seeking a position to support you, the other coming around Marcus's neck when he presses a toothy kiss to your neck. He thrusts into you again, fingers playing with your nipple, and then his other hand comes to rub your clit.

You keen at the sudden intensity, back arching on top of him, and he plants his feet more firmly on the mattress.

"Fuck," you gasp, "that's good, Marcus, this is good..."

He sucks a kiss to your neck, his teeth stinging just a little, and your legs kick in search of a hold so that you can stay just above him. He slips out, and you whimper.

"Relax," he soothes you, thumb abandoning your clit to instead guide himself back into you. "Put your weight on me, I can take it."

You follow his instructions, back sinking down onto his chest and stomach, pelvis angling slightly to help him stay inside you. His fingers return to tease your clit, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he settles into a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

"That's it," he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. "Just like that, take it, just enjoy it, let me take care of you."

The slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is maddening in how it pushes at your spot but leaves you wanting more. You buck your hips down eagerly.

"Faster, please, Marcus."

He obeys immediately, moaning at how you immediately clench around him. Your fingers thread through his hair, the other hand fists into the sheets. The pressure on that one spot inside you is growing in intensity, insanely, perfectly, knocking your breath out with each jab of Marcus's cock against it. Your moans become whimpers, a moan too complex a sound for you at this point, when you are so close, so utterly close to the climax that you now need as much as you need air -

The release floods your body and your cunt, and for a split second you're horrified at the wet feeling on your thighs, the rippling sound, until you realize that you squirted. A half moan, half giggle escapes you as you press your thighs together as if to lock in the orgasm that pulsates through your cunt and lower belly. Marcus gasps an excited Fuck, yes before bucking up a couple of errant times, and then relaxing down. He kisses your temple, drags his soaked fingers up over your soft belly, making you squirm.

"Sorry," he murmurs throatily. You murmur something back and slide down next to him. Everything between your legs seems wet and now cold, but you're still prickling all over with excitement.

Marcus heaves a deep sigh before turning his face to you. "That was so hot."

"I didn't know I could do that with a man."

"You haven't before?"

You shake your head. Marcus smiles softly.

"I'm honored. Was it good?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

"So fucking good."

You smile back at him before turning your face back towards the ceiling, and taking a deep breath that you sigh out audibly. Your body relaxes quickly, a muscle in your lower back mutters about the position you just were in, but you feel extremely good, and wrung out in a fantastic way. In the corner of your eye, you catch Marcus taking the condom off, before getting up to take it to the trash. When he returns, he looks around, looking for his clothes. You roll over onto your side.

"You don't have to leave, you know," you tell him quietly. Marcus stops, boxers in hand.

"Yeah?"

"I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for a relationship," you hurry to assure him. "But I wouldn't mind you staying over. Unless you have plans?"

"I don't."

He drops the boxers, and slides back into bed, next to you. You smile a little wryly.

"The sheets are wet. I'll change them, feel free to grab a shower.

"Soon," Marcus tells you, low voice heavy with a calm confidence. "I suggest we wet them a little more first."

Your deal with Marcus is simple and beautiful: sex, with or without staying the night. The occasional take-out dinner. Quickies when you run into each other in the corridor outside your front doors, with ten minutes to spare. It's undemanding, friendly, mutually satisfying. Uncomplicated, with no romantic feelings involved, so nobody can get hurt.

Marcus is an active lover who smoothly takes charge. Not bossy, but firm and empathic, and not afraid of using aids of different kinds to raise your orgasms to the next level. He's not opposed to fucking you fully clothed in the morning and leaving you wanting as you go to work with his cold cum in your panties, shot there after he removed the rubber after fucking you.

It is, in short, the perfect set-up.

Fall passes by, and you see yourself forced to fly out to see your family over Thanksgiving. You spend as much time as you can working in your childhood room, however. Your parents do not understand your choice of profession, your mother does not see how a woman of your age has chosen to be childless. Your older brother knocked his girlfriend up at sixteen, your younger sister was married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-eight. You love them, but you don't have a lot in common with them, and even if your siblings at least pretend to understand your life choices, their contempt steeped in jealousy of your life shines through at times. Your parents choose to simply ignore the life you have built for yourself in D.C., talking instead about Mrs. McCall next door, Annie down the street, Cybil in town, Kearney at the gas station, as if you knew any of them or cared about what they said about Kayleigh's twins.

You endure for two nights, and text Marcus from the airport, before boarding: I'll be home after nine tonight. You free?

He replies almost immediately: I'll pick you up at the airport.

You text him the flight number before turning off your phone, settling for a three-hour nap in lieu of working.

When you finally land, puffy-faced but breathing freely now that you're back in the city you call home, Marcus is waiting for you in arrivals. The way his smile lights up his eyes when he sees you makes your heart miss a beat. There is something there that's beyond what the two of you have, something much more sincere.

You shake it off and smile back as you walk up to him. He leans forward, like he's about to kiss you, but ends up giving you an awkward half-hug.

"Welcome home."

"Thanks. And thank you for picking me up."

"My pleasure."

The two of you turn and start walking towards the exit. Marcus offers to take your carry-on wheelie bag, but you decline, accustomed as you are to carrying your own luggage yourself.

In the car, he asks you how your Thanksgiving was.

"As holidays at my parents' usually are. One night would've been enough."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. It's just..." You rub your forehead. "Whenever I visit, I feel trapped. Everything back home is... small. People are kind, yes, but they're small-minded. The town is small. The spaces in which to move, physically and mentally, are small. And I feel like some kind of big city snob who comes to visit twice a year, scoffs at their very ordinary and, as far as I know, happy lives, and then flies back to my vegan frappuccinos and twenty-four-hour sushi restaurants."

Marcus chuckles low. "I think I know what you mean. But it's hard for me to imagine that you'd be a snob about anything."

"I probably am. But I... I don't know, I outgrew that town when I was fifteen. Couldn't get out fast enough. And I don't like going back."

"Does your family support your choices?"

You shrug. "Yes and no. Mom and dad are proud, I guess, but at the same time they don't have any idea what it is that I do. 'If you wanted to be a lawyer, couldn't you be one here? Where it's not as stressful and you could start a family, and work normal hours?' As if I could practice the law I'm interested in over there."

"What's the most common type of lawyer in your hometown?"

"General practitioners who do a little bit of everything, wills mostly. And there are three, I think."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

The conversation turns to other subjects as Marcus drives the two of you to your apartment building. As he parks in his spot in the underground garage, you place your hand onto his thigh. He turns off the engine and looks at you.

"Thanks for picking me up," you tell him quietly. His hand comes to rest on top of yours.

"No problem."

"You have any plans for tonight?"

He shakes his head, then leans forward over the middle console as you reach across the same for a kiss. His fingers thread into your hair before closing around the back of your head to bring you in, and you sigh softly against his lips as you feel the rest of the pressure from your Thanksgiving visit melt away. If the town you grew up in felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable, D.C. and Marcus feel like home. And there's nothing you want to do more now than be with Marcus in this city.

You break the kiss and lower your gaze to his fly, where your fingers are already working on unzipping him. Marcus exhales in an audible sigh.

"You missed me that much?"

"Don't get any ideas," you warn him before bowing down over his lap.

Later, when you are freshly showered, and lying awake in Marcus's bed with him deeply asleep next to you, you wonder when his presence at night became such a comfort for you.

Marcus visits his parents over Christmas. You manage to convince yours that you're way too busy and the holidays too short for you to fly out. Settling in for a couple of days off work, you plan to go to the gym, meet friends, and maybe finally get through that book you started three months ago. You plan for simple yet delicious meals and come home with bags full of groceries and bottles of wine that you balance in your arms as you're digging for the keys in your pocket.

"Lemme get that."

Marcus appears by your side, taking a grocery bag from you.

"Thanks."

You manage to let yourself in, and Marcus follows you to the kitchen, where he leaves the bag on the table.

"Hi," he smiles. There is something so endearing about this man, his smile lights up the whole room, you can't possibly keep from smiling back at him.

"Hi. I thought you already left for the airport?"

"Just on my way now. Glad I caught you."

"Oh?" You unbutton your coat, unwrap the scarf from around your neck. "What's up?"

"Just... I wanted to see you before I left. Wish you happy holidays."

"Right." You take off your coat and leave it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Well... happy holidays, Marcus. I hope you have a nice weekend with your parents."

"Thanks." He clears his throat, looks down and scratches the back of his head. "Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you maybe... want to do something?"

"Sure," you nod, a warmth spreading in your belly. "Like, dinner?"

"I was thinking Hirschhorn? You said you were curious about their special exhibit. Then dinner, and maybe a movie, if you're not opposed to spending so much time with me at once?"

You feel your cheeks heat up a little. "I don't mind at all. That sounds lovely."

His smile widens, his warm eyes glitter. "Great. I'll get back to you as soon as I return."

He kisses your cheek before leaving, his hand resting momentarily on your arm. When he closes the door behind him, the apartment feels empty.

That emptiness stays with you over the holidays. You're enjoying the time off, yes, and downright cherish not having to spend time with your family. You were looking forward to Christmas eve drinks with a couple of friends but are disappointed when they only talk about holiday preparations, gift shopping, and visiting in-laws. The detachment makes you annoyed. It's not that you want that kind of life, you don't want kids and a house and Thanksgiving dinners and all of that. But there doesn't seem to be any alternatives. You get the feeling that they feel sorry for you, that they think you should look up from your laptop once in a while, go dating, settle down, maybe work less.

Always work less. You love your job so much, maybe you won’t forever, but right now you do, and it doesn’t feel taxing when it gives you the gratification it does.

You grab a cab home, earlier than you thought and morose for not getting the carefree night you had planned for. Maybe it's your own fault for thinking that people with families wouldn't have changed.

You weigh your phone in your hand for a couple of blocks before texting Marcus.

Hope you're having a better time than I am. Just getting home after drinks, and realized I have nothing in common with my friends anymore :/

You regret the text as soon as you've sent it. It sounds whiny, and you know that you're being unfair to your friends. But Marcus replies almost immediately:

Sorry to hear that. Wish I was there to make you feel better.

You smile, and your heart skips a beat. He always knows what to say.

It is what it is. Early night for me.

He replies with a Santa emoji that makes you chuckle.

Too old for Santa, you type back. Or too naughty. Either way, he's not coming.

Only man who should come in your apartment is me ;)

You stare at the message, cheeks heating as you lick your lips. Your brain scrambles for an answer to match his tone.

I'll be the judge of that, mister. If you're away for too long, I might get lonely.

The reply comes almost immediately.

I'll be back before you know it.

Your heart is fluttering like a butterfly inside your ribcage, and you react with a thumb up to the last message. For the rest of the cab ride, you're chewing on your lower lip while looking out the window, decorated windows racing past you as the cab driver navigates towards your apartment building.

You fall asleep in front of the TV and are awakened by a text.

You up?

You rub your eyes, realize that you're still wearing makeup, and curse low.

It's two am.

Marcus's name immediately lights up on the phone, and you answer the call.

"What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you."

"That's fine, I was on the couch. Gotta schlep my ass to bed," you yawn as you turn off the TV, and stand up, scratching your head.

"I'm outside."

"What?"

"I'm outside your door."

You frown, trying to understand what he's saying. "What are you doing there?"

"Just open?"

Call still active and phone held to your ear, you walk over to the front door, and unlock it. And there Marcus is, holding his phone but lowering his hand and ending the call while smiling wryly at you.

"Hi."

"What... why aren't you at your parents'?" you stutter, still holding the phone like you're talking to him through it.

"Because I can't do this at my parents'." He steps up to you, cups your cheek, and brings his lips to yours. His face is cold, so you understand that he has just arrived from the airport. Your sleep-riddled brain still doesn't understand, and Marcus breaks the kiss, breathing softly against your lips before drawing back.

"Did I... fuck this up now?"

You lick your lips and realize that you're feeling calm and steady in a way you no longer do when he's not around. You grab him by the jacket lapel and pull him in through the door.

"No," you reply, a shiver running through you when he puts his arms around you. "No, you did just the right thing."

You don't use your tub as often as you would like to, yet it was one of the main reasons why you bought your apartment. It's spacious, has gorgeous vintage style brass faucets, and is placed by the window, from which you can see the park, now wearing a white winter coat of snow, on the other side of the street. The shower booth is at the back wall of the bathroom and your busy lifestyle has you favoring quick showers instead of long, luxurious baths.

Now, however, you're stretched out languidly in Marcus's arms, the back of your head on his shoulder, his hairy thighs pressing up against you on either side. The water is hot and scented with oils, and if the orgasms you had before getting out of bed hadn't relaxed you, this would definitely take away the last vestiges of stress knotting your muscles.

"This is a really nice tub," Marcus mumbles into your ear, his hand running up the inside of your arm, resting on the edge of the tub. "Wish I had one."

"You're welcome to use mine," you smile, just as his hand disappears into the water, finding your breast and cupping it, thumb lazily stroking the nipple.

"I like your apartment better anyway," he admits. "Mine doesn't feel like a home."

"That's just because you haven't unpacked."

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Been busy."

"Doesn't help much that you're fucking me every time you're off work."

“One could even say it’s your fault I haven’t unpacked,” he muses, lips touching your temple. You shake your head, hand finding his and leading it away from your breast.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to pin this on me.” There is no vehemence in your voice, and even if Marcus can’t see your face, he can plainly hear the smile threatening to break out.

“I had to try.”

You bring your hand back to your chest, and sigh when his fingers brush over your nipple. It would be so easy to just let things slide, enjoy his hands, his mouth, his cock that’s resting softly against your lower back… But your interest is piqued.

“Why haven’t you unpacked, Marcus?” you ask quietly. “I’ve seen that you have painting just waiting to be hung on the walls and given how much you like to criticize my dentist’s office artwork from Ikea, I can’t imagine why you haven’t done more to decorate your apartment.”

His hand stills, and you feel him swallow. He clears his throat, sighs, clearly stalling, but you don’t show mercy. You want to know.

“I guess… I thought I’d be making a home with someone. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t like the idea anymore.”

You braid your fingers with his, the water gently rippling with your movement.

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. Teresa.”

“What happened?” He’s mentioned some tragic breakup but never specified, and you’ve never asked. Now, however, you’re asking. You want this puzzle piece to fit right, want to know everything there is to know about Marcus Pike.

“I don’t want to burden you with that…”

“I want to know, Marcus.”

He hesitates, but eventually tells you how his ex, a smart, beautiful woman that he fell head over heels for and eventually proposed to, accepted his proposal over the phone but called again thirty minutes later to tell him that she was leaving him for a coworker. Marcus had been transferred to D.C., had asked Teresa to come with, had a plan for a life together, and she turned out to be in love with a coworker: a charming, unreliable man who worked out an elaborate scheme to make her choose him instead of Marcus.

You’re shocked to silence when he stops talking, an array of emotions simmering inside you. When Marcus speaks your name, the first one to burst is anger.

“What a cunt!”

Marcus sputters your name, but you don’t feel bad.

“You know I’m right!”

“No need for language like that,” he protests, but you can sense a change in him. It’s like something’s loosened in him. Even if you can’t see his face in this position, you can feel it in how his body feels against yours.

“I’m sorry, but that behavior is despicable. And from what you’ve told me about that asshole that she went with because of you, I’d say they deserve each other.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe I was too pushy. We didn’t date for long before I asked her to marry me. I should’ve given her more time.”

You turn around in his arms so that you can meet his flickering gaze. Raising your hand to his cheek, you caress the slightly scratchy surface that sorely needs a razor.

“If it feels right, it feels right,” you tell him softly. “There’s no shame in being open and honest about your feelings, Marcus.”

He blinks, and for a second you think his eyes look shiny. His lower jaw moves as he swallows.

“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses but… I did feel I was being straight with her. And she… really fucking hurt me.”

“Yeah, she did.”

His stare is suddenly relentless.

“Will you? Hurt me, I mean?”

You feel nothing but calm. “Marcus, I like you a lot. This is more than just sex now. But I won’t marry you in six months, and I don’t need you to have a plan for us. I like my job, I have a good career that I won’t give up. I don’t want kids, but I like being with you, and I want to keep being with you, not just have sex but do other stuff with you.”

He smiles at that and casts his eyes down. You lean forward to press a small kiss to his lips.

“And I will help you to unpack your shit, and I will come with you to get a new kitchen table tomorrow when the stores open. Because that huge monster you have jamming up your kitchen has got to go.”

“Not tomorrow,” he immediately tells you, and you quirk an eyebrow. “Because tomorrow I’m taking you to the museum, out for a meal, and then we’re watching Casablanca.”

You chuckle. “It’s a deal.”

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, water splashing when his arms go around you.

“For the record,” he murmurs against your lips, “I like you too.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, before a gasp escapes your lips; Marcus’s hand has slid down your soft stomach to the apex of your thighs, and one finger is slowly circling your clit.

“Open your legs,” he whispers, breath almost scorching your cheek that is already warm from the water and your rising desire. You move around, legs and hips repositioning themselves so that he can cup his big hand over your sex.

“Marcus,” you breathe in a low moan, “I already came twice this morning…”

“And you’ll come a third time,” he promises as he slides a finger inside your warm heat, rolling a nipple between two fingers of his other hand. You curl your arm back and around his neck, seek his lips for more kisses, push down against his hardening cock to make him gasp into your mouth. Thumb on your clit, he adds a second finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly as you exchange moans along with your kisses. Your hips jut upwards when he hits the right spot, and then he stays on it, water splashing over the edges of the tub when he goes increases speed. Your hand dives underneath the surface to find his cock, and a strangled moan travels from Marcus’s mouth to yours when your fingers close around the stiff length. When he slows down, so do you, when he fucks you faster, your hand works him faster.

The climax reaches both of you at the same time, your bodies tightening up, Marcus’s hips jerking up as your thighs clamp shut, cries bouncing off the tiles as you press your bodies together. As silence falls, the water stills and your hearts return to their normal rhythms, and Marcus’s lips are on your temple.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“So are you,” you hum, a ripple of lingering pleasure making your legs twitch. He kisses you again, a light smattering of kisses over your temple, brow, cheekbone, before reaching your mouth. That last kiss is deep and slow, loving, and intimate in a way you haven’t had with him before. It’s unnerving, almost scary, but there is something so comforting about Marcus’s broad-shouldered body underneath you, something that makes you embrace the unknown.

“Happy Christmas, baby.”

The underwhelming meeting with your friends, the flirty texting with Marcus, that feels like weeks ago. But it was only last night, and your world has been thoroughly rocked since then.

“Happy Christmas, Marcus.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #my fic

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cardboardclownery · 7 months ago

Text

CRASHES THROUGH A BRICK WALL

HI HI IM ALIVE!!!! sorry for the relative radio silence on here ;v;

on the topic of that actually!!!! finally have a proper folie a deux au update for you!! though its slightly different than expected?

me and professional buddy and fellow au creator @cookiecaker decided to share a summary of the story we're making for the au beforehand since we'll be taking a whileeee to finish it,,, got a lot of life to live and horrors to create "-v-

after this though you mayyyy or may notttt see some out of order chapter drafts posted for the story as well,,, or atleast one? eh youll see ;Pc

ANYWAYS!!!! this is gonna take a while so lets get on with...

THE FOLIE À DEUX DOAI AU

a summary!!

or story pitch? idk-

(cookie please lemme know if i miss or improperly describe anything here feel free to correct me-)

PART 1

the first three chapters follow alex just after the end of volume 1 as theyre abducted by lankmann and confined to his asylum as a "patient." eventually they get sent to winfrey as food, but winfrey refuses to eat them. theyre left to die in room 66 by lankmann for a Long While, until eventually he gives up and just puts alex back in their room

while alone in confinement, alex starts noticing strange things happening... dark patches start appearing on their skin, they get random pains as if someone were kicking them, and they hear a voice... a much clearer voice than the ones they used to hear while working in the asylum, and it seemed to be able to read their thoughts. though they originally just assumed it was due to being part of their thoughts as well, they find that they start knowing things they had no way of knowing and never learned prior to being confined. when lankmann typically entered room 66, how long hes inside, certain areas of the asylum patients found that theyd never heard of before...

this "voice" managed to help alex find a way to escape, leading to them running away and moving to another, smaller town in eastridge than the one they originally lived in to avoid lankmann's pursuit

PART 2

[ ! tw for cannibalism. yes you heard me- ! ]

so after getting far away from the asylum, alex assumes that their hallucinations and weird symptoms of... Something would wear off, since subject 02 was no where near close enough to affect them

well uh. nope! theyre still there!!

so eventually alex figures out "oh shit that thing is in my head somehow" and is obviously quite concerned!!! to say the least!!!! but theyre also oddly comforted by the idea of having The Voice in their head, since now theyre not entirely alone while on the run and i mean it helped them escape so it cant be that bad?? either way theyre not exactly excited about the whole ordeal and theyre starting to look different and theyre really hungry all the time and its not fun

so! at some point (with winfreys suggestion) alex decides to run off to another town a bit farther away just to be safe. but Uh Oh theyre all out of food!! so theyre extremely hungry, forcing themself through it so they can get food when they arrive but. they see someone in the woods while walking

and for some reason that makes them even hungrier

they try to ignore it and keep walking but they cant

and the next thing they know

theyre looking down at a person

chewing off the flesh on their leg

covered in blood

even after regaining their senses they cant stop themself from eating. it tasted... so good... they were so hungry... they felt awful but it really did taste so s o g o o d .

in a haze, they discard the body, clean themself off and reach the next town. just after unpacking in an apartment, they collapse, flooded with the emotions they fought off on the way there

the next day, alex finally confronts winfrey (or winfreys voice rather-) about all their grievances and they eventually reach an understanding, as winfrey opens up about fearing the outside of the asylum despite longing to escape through alex, so they eventually agree to let winfrey pilot their body for a few days to get a feel for how the world has changed since the time winfrey had been free

in doing so, winfrey realizes how small and helpless humans are in comparison to them and how terrified the patients they devoured mustve been. this allows them to appreciate human life (specifically alex's) much more and want to escaped in their own body to join alex outside and introduce clyde to what they learned after finding it again

while piloting alexs body, winfrey is suddenly forced back into their own after lankmann inflicts enough pain to wake them from the dissociative state that piloting alex left them in. soon after this, winfrey overcomes the fear that was originally keeping them from escaping the facility and breaks out

PART 3

this section is a lot less figured out than the rest so uhh bear with me please ;v;

essentially this couple of chapters just follows alex and winfrey as they get used to life on the run, figuring out where to go from there and how they could potentially find clyde, along with just talking face to face and getting used to that. its a weird feeling talking to someone that you share thoughts with yknow? like talking to yourself but its... not... yourself...

around the start of this section winfrey also expresses that they feel drawn to feminity as a human concept, thus being referred to with they/she from this point on in the story!! transfem winfrey yippee!!! it just makes sense in our head idk-

PART 4

alex and winfrey start noticing news broadcasts and posters asking around for a "dark figure" lurking around, as well as warnings about alex being missing from lankmanns asylum. this fuels alex's paranoia, leading them to seeing lankmanns caretakers everywhere, feeling as if theyre being watched wherever they go... until eventually their home is ambushed and theyre taken back into lankmanns custody

alex is essentially used as bait to get winfrey to come save them from the asylum, since lankmann couldnt find a solid lead on where winfrey could be. alex tries to convince her not to fall for it, since they can both tell this is what lankmanns trying to do, but winfrey eventually caves and breaks back in to help alex, getting trapped inside once again

PART 5

depsite the circumstances, winfrey and alex do their best to stay determined and keep looking for a way out, but they dont make much progress. to make matters worse, lankmann tries "live feeding" patients to alex in the same way he did with winfrey due to realizing that alex has veldigun traits and assuming that theyd have the same appetite as her. this isnt the case, and eventually lankmann switches to dead patients as food for alex, which theyre forced to accept due to lacking any other options

both winfrey and alex are miserable in the situation, the helplessness sinking in fairly quickly as alexs body begins rejecting the growing veldigun portions of itself, decaying under the immense stress

during their final moments, winfrey pilots alexs body to allow an atleast somewhat peaceful death as their consciousness fades away, leaving winfrey alone to reflect on all that had happened...

...and thats the official end of the story!! i had like,, a hypothetical epilogue/alternate ending where lankmann forces a Mind Merge with winfrey somehow and then gets killed and she breaks out again but like. idk the logistics of that are iffy and i kinda prefer the more melancholy end for something like this ":]c

ANYHOW!!!! hope that was!!! something!!!! please feel free to ask questions or provide feedback or anything else im always happy to engage with my fellow freaks (affectionate) :]

ALSO IF YOU MAKE CONTENT BASED ON THIS AU LET ME KNOW I WILL DIE FOREVER alright thats it for real this time- stay safe broskissss BP

#i hope the transfem winfrey vision isnt too hard to see #think about it... extends my hands #oh yea and the cannibalism- sorry if this is too freaky i dont mean to like. idk #either way i really appreciate all the support we've received so far!!!! you guys are the bomb youre all so cool and talented and swagger #love you doaiblr #doai #dreams of an insomniac #bobosart #fanart #alex williams doai #clyde doai #doai walex #doai folie a deux au #doai au

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shrimplymoray · 11 months ago

Text

This post is me madly projecting with some x reader stuff. Not requested, I had the idea and my besties said "YES DO IT" so this is happening now lmao.

This has been on my drafts for a looooong time, so that's why I'm actually posting this now lmao.

Octavinelle Trio x Reader who is autistic with a special interest in Moray Eels

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul first laid eyes on you for purely business reasons. During the holiday season, the Mostro Lounge stays understaffed most times, and you were oh so kindly falling into his flourished word traps to strike a deal.

He, however, would have never expected all you wanted from him was to know all about Moray Eels that he, as a merfolk, knew. That was... rather odd and maybe even boring?

He got intrigued, were you trying something with the twins? They were his most loyal workers, so he couldn't allow you to do anything.

When you get into a relationship, after much hard work on both parts, he expected, no, hoped you would change this special interest from the slimy eels to the much more interesting octopus.

You... didn't quite catch the hints, though, and this has led to some rather jealous and insecure moments with Azul. Especially if the twins were involved.

One could say that he was so insecure, in fact, that he felt ashamed of even showing his octomerman form to you.

But after you realized all this jealousy and insecurity on his part, you did all you could to show how much you love him and appreciate him for the way he is.

Now your eel-filled room has a little octopus cove, full of things that remind you of Azul or that he enjoys so that he has a safe space to come to.

He still will glare at your Eel stuff when cuddling, almost as if the carnivores were real and trying to get a bite out of you.

"I suppose it wouldn't be bad to stay a bit in here, with you, if you promise me you won't be cuddling those slimy eels to sleep, but rather this much more elegant and cuddly octopus plushie..."

Floyd Leech

Floyd first approached you on a whim. He was bored, you looked interesting enough, and you didn't seem to have any sense of self to run away from him in fear of getting squeezed till you popped, and as such, he stuck for a while.

You were quite different from most people he knew, and sometimes you reminded him a bit of himself or Jade, which gave you some points on his side.

The thing that made him stay, though, was the moment you opened your mouth and asked him if he ever saw a Moray Eel.

You're really asking that? To him? A literal Eel-merman? Hah!

He did indulge you for a while because you actually seemed to know your facts. He would just push you around, sometimes carry you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, while you blabbered out.

When it came to you two dating, it was very much a surprise for everyone. Floyd? Sticking to someone for so long? That's new.

Floyd tends to cling to you a lot, and even though it gets boring to him real quick that you repeat your eel facts, he cannot for the life of him stop you, since when you ramble is the best time to cuddle.

Floyd will, though, get easily jealous of your eel collection. You have the real eel deal (ha!), and you keep cuddling the plushies? Meanie :(

He will constantly just take the plushie off of your hands and plop himself on top of you. No fake eel, just the real deal.

He didn't really tell you he was a mer-eel, he actually just oh so happened to be taking a swim when you were close, and oh, look, he is an eel!

He lets you play with his fins and will take any chance he can get to use you as his cleaning shrimp to get sand off of him. He just like how your little cute hands feel scrubbing the sand from him, it is like exfoliation!

"hey hey, guppy, wanna do something fun? ya can bring the tiny morays with ya, if ya don't mind a bit of dirt, ahahah~!"

Jade Leech

First met you as a tutor for your work at the Mostro Lounge, per Azul's request.

Found your mannerisms quite interesting, you reminded him of himself and a bit of Floyd too.

He was happy when you didn't distance yourself from him when he talked about his interest in mountains or Mushrooms.

In return, you told him you really really really liked Eels. Specially Morays.

He faked not knowing it and let you talk about it since as long as he could rant about his fungi findings he didn't mind having to hear what he already knew.

When you two began dating, he was very perceptive of your needs. sometimes to a scary level, actually.

He doesn't mind at all your eel-filled room. he finds it endearing, and he even uses some miniatures you buy to put on terrariums he gifts to you.

Autistic x autistic relationship, basically.

He will use your eel interest against you in a silly way, like "I can show you an incredible moray fact if you perhaps go hiking with me :)"

Tbh if you are with him, you should do the same. Makes things fun for you both.

Floyd and Azul are so tired of hearing the both of you talk about each other and enabling each other's interests, but Jade will never judge you. And he will actually shove shiitake mushrooms down other's throats if they do judge you.

The moment he showed you his mer form as per your request, after knowing from Floyd that they both are eels.

Jade doesn't mind you picking and prodding around his mer form if it makes you happy, but if you keep your guard down he will fake drowning you "just for fun :)"

Make sure to hide his mushrooms in return, or he will try funny business again, just saying.

"Oya~ I would never intend to purposefully hurt you, my pearl. But a predator is inclined to bite when their jaws are so open near a cute prey, fufufu~"

I wanted to write something for my fave trio for a while, so I hope yall like this! Other posts and the request for Bee and Vixx will be done shortly after this, Since I already have it in my drafts almost finished! Hope yall enjoy a bit of eeltism!

#twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #twst #disney twst #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst jade x reader #twst floyd x reader #twst azul x reader #tena writing

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coupleoffanfics · 6 months ago

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How would Batsis! y/n become a villain?

I found this while trying to clean up my writing drafts. Not sure when I wrote this, but I decided to post it because why not.

Jerome Route

If she had no friends, that connection with Barbara, or relationship with Jeremiah then Jerome would have a considerably easier time charming y/n. The emotional neglect from the family makes her desperate for any sort of contention leading her right into the hands of Jerome.

The family would believe that y/n can be saved, but she sees them trying to save face. Trying to stop her from telling Jerome all the big bad Batman's secrets by saying they're sorry and that they care. She doesn't end up telling him about their identities because someone has to keep Gotham safe. She's with Jerome, but she doesn't agree with everything he does.

y/n might purposefully sabotage Jerome's schemes. It's not because she cares for the family, no. It's for Batman and his Robins to keep innocent people safe. She keeps the family and their personas separate. At least she'll try to see them as separate.

Her logic is backwards and hypocritical, but frankly she doesn't care enough anymore. All that matters is Jerome's love. Who needs friends or family when you can have Jerome?

y/n and Jerome probably argued over wedding ideas.. Jerome wants a circus theme with a replica of his mom as a pinata. While y/n wants a traditional, elegant wedding. They compromise by letting y/n have that traditional vibe with the ceremony and Jerome can go batshit with the reception.

Jerome never put so much thought into something before and he never wants to do that again.

The Batfamily was not invited of course. The family most likely hears about it or even sends wedding photos. y/n probably has Joker or some other villain walk her down the aisle. Bruce sulks about it for months.

Post-Spray Jeremiah Route

If y/n had no one else besides Jeremiah and her moral compass was cracked. Then of course she's almost going to believe everything he tells her.

There's no denying that Gotham is a modern day Babylon. Yeah, the world would be better without it. Maybe it would be a good thing if we do get rid of it. Yeah, we could rebuild it!

But she'll run into the same problem of not fully following Jeremiah's ideology. At least how he goes about obtaining the goal of cleaning up Gotham. The cult stuff freaks her out a lot. When his followers bow down to her and praise her, she'll tell them to stop but he orders them to do that.

After expressing her discomfort over the cult and the followers' behavior, Jeremiah will distance her from it. Having her become sheltered in the bunker or a manor hidden away in the woods. Meaning the only relationship she can have with anyone who isn't Jeremiah is Ecco. Even then Ecco is just another follower that was trained to be a guard dog.

This version of y/n wouldn't be too involved compared to the Jerome route. But if Jeremiah was caught and sent to Arkham, y/n is sneaking in to break him out. It could be by disguising herself as a guard or forcefully entering it with full confidence.

The family would try to reason with her if only they could actually talk to her. Again since she's not hands on it's a rarity for them to see her.

The few times they've met face to face was when their hero personas. Jeremiah and Ecco were busy fighting off the others, giving them time to talk. If they try to convince her to leave him, she'll either ignore it or tell them about how he's all she ever had. The only family member that could possibly break through to y/n would probably be Jason or maybe even Barbara.

Jeremiah and y/n get offended when they're compared to Joker and Harley. They'll clearly be different because they have a healthy and loving relationship. People probably come up with the comparison because of his physical appearance and he hates it. They're not wrong when they say their relationship is loving, but it being healthy is debatable.

y/n is more than willing to kill or torture someone if they were to do anything to Jeremiah. Though once again her hands are off, but doesn't mind getting her hands dirty.

y/n is the type to write like love letters and put them into Jeremiah's pocket before he leaves. He's in the middle of fighting Batman and suddenly a pink paper with a red heart border falls out of his pocket. Seeing it makes him scramble to grab it and shove it back into his pocket. He'll read it later.

This y/n might live a more semi-normal life, but probably struggles with loneliness and depression. Since Jeremiah is often working and Ecco is Ecco.

Sprayed Route

The moment y/n realizes what is happening she goes to Jeremiah and contacts Barbara who informs the family. They'd probably find a cure, but for the sake of story and angst let's say they can't.

Everyone is just forced to watch y/n become what essentially a Joker lookalike. Or she could look completely the same, doesn't really matter because they'll all be horrified by the drastic change.

She'd use the knowledge of their identities against them. Dangling it above their heads, but it isn't long before they realize that she isn't going to say anything. Oh, but she's definitely telling Jeremiah all about this. Of course he swears to never tell anyone and he might start working with the family to lock y/n up.

Not only was she endangering herself, but others as well. The best thing for everyone is to lock her up.

If she learns about Jeremiah working against her. She'd be so heartbroken. Violently throwing and smashing everything in the room she was in before coming up with an idea. 'He'd never be against me, they probably forced him to work for them. It's all their fault. They always ruin everything, but I won't let them take him.'

Out of all of the other possible routes this y/n would be the most vindictive. She'll guilt trip the family with her sob stories of their neglect, their personas won't won't react. But she knows they'll be thinking about what she said hours later. She'll spit out insults and won't hold back fighting.

Her once passive and defensive fighting style has completely flipped to almost recklessly aggressive. The only way she'll stop fighting back is if they restrain or knock her out.

Arkham isn't hard for her to adjust to. She'll explain to her few visitors (Jeremiah, Barbara, and Alfred) that it reminds her of Wayne manor. But less lonely.

Barbara and Alfred are the only family members she'll allow to visit her. As she still has a bit of a soft spot for them. Will not admit it, but she's always pleasantly surprised when Babs visits her or Alfred sends her some of his cooking. It almost makes her tear up and feel immense sadness. Just almost.

Probably besties with Riddler or something. Most Arkham inmates know of the name Jeremiah Valeska by how much y/n will mindlessly ramble about him. They also know not to mess with him because they'll be put on top of her shit list.

Masterlist Here

#x reader #batfamily x batsis reader #batsis reader #batfamily x reader #jerome valeska x reader

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hysterikan · 1 month ago

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Good morning (Damon Albarn x Reader)

I've had this in my drafts for AGES and I finally decided to clean it up (and against my better knowledge post it lol) I apologize for any spelling and/or grammatical errors as english isn't my first language and it hasn't been beta-read by anyone. Anyways, I hope you will enjoy and if you did it would make my day if you leave a comment or reblog it! I also uploaded it to my AO3 here

Summary: Reader has a wet dream about Alex and somehow her boyfriend Damon finds out, but doesn't seem to be as upset as she thought he would be. As a matter in fact he might even like it

Wordcount: 3,277

Warnings: SMUT

She felt his teeth drag along her collarbone, making her shudder and then suddenly the sharp pain of his bite, making each nerve ending in her body crackle like a little firework.

Letting out a sound halfway between a squeal and giggle, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging on it harshly.

He groaned and looked up from her chest, his brown eyes glazed over. He had covered her breasts in dark purple hickies and red teeth marks, nipping and biting every centimeter of skin.

“Alex.” She whispered softly, slowly grinding on him where she sat in his lap. Both of them gasped at the movement, his cock twitched inside of her and he gripped her hips hard.

He reached up to take her jaw in his hand, thumb dragging over her lip as her eyes fluttered shut and mouth fell open.

She could feel how his thighs tensed up under her and she knew with a little more teasing he would let her have her way.

“Alex,” She moaned again, opening her eyes as his name fell from her swollen lips and looking directly into his. His mouth twitched before he kissed her, harsh and nibbling with sharp teeth.

Carefully he leaned her back, getting on top of her while still kissing her. There was both gentleness and a feverish need in his movements.

They both shuddered, and she moaned when she felt his chest pressing against hers and how his hair brushed over her shoulder as he leaned in to kiss her neck. She wrapped her legs around him, never wanting to let go when she felt him sink deeper inside her.

With slow thrusts and featherlight kisses he teased her, coaxing out whiny moans from her. Alex chuckled breathlessly when she mewled, clawing at his back and she reached down to his ass, trying to push him further into her.

He got the hint, he just wanted to hear her say it.

“Tell me what you want.” He whispered. His voice low and gravely in her ear, making her skin prickle and her walls throb around him.

“I want you-, I want you to fuck me.” She answered in breathy moans, catching his lips in a slow sloppy kiss.

He obliged, slowly picking up speed in his thrusts.

Her hands found their way into his hair, tugging on it relentlessly, knowing it would drive him mad.

And it did.

He pinned down her hands, making her let out anexhilarated giggle and he couldn’t hold back his own smile.

Her smile soon faded into a little o-shape as he started thrusting his hips harder and harder, drawing a loud gasp out of her with each thrust.

She felt dizzy from the pleasure, she didn’t know where he started and she ended, all she knew was him in her and his voice as he moaned her name, his sweat covered body that pressed against hers and the safe pressure of his hands on her wrists.

“Alex, ‘m gonna- ” She cried out, clenching her thighs and writhing, her entire body aching to cum.

To cum for him. To cum on him.

“Bloody hell.” he whined, feeling her clench around him and hearing her needy cries brought him closer to his own release.

The orgasm washed over her without a warning and for a split second her mind went blank, the only thing that existed were her and Alex.

With soblike moans she clawed at his back, her legs quivering around his waist as she came. Her back arched up, meeting Alex's hips as he came closer and closer to his own release, and he bit back a loud groan when she clenched hard around him.

Alex's breath was ragged as he saw her, still shuddering and moaning. With a last hard thrust that made her whimper, still high on her orgasm, his brow furrowed and his body rippled as he came, whimpering her name.

It took her a second to realize where she was, with Alexs' loud moans still ringing in her mind. She was in her bedroom, with Damon next to her in their bed.

The sunlight that filtered in through the blinds made little golden lines over his naked back that rose and fell with his steady breathing.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, almost hearing her heartbeat in her ears. Slowly she reached a hand down, and gasped. Her underwear was soaked through, the wetness even staining the inside of her thighs.

Drawing another shuddering breath she realized she must’ve had an orgasm in her sleep.

With burning cheeks she came to another conclusion, that in the dream she had been cumming on her boyfriend's best mate's cock.

She pulled her hand up and feeling a wave of shame wash over her, she closed her eyes.

It had felt so real, and she could still hear Alex's moans and teasing whispers as he thrusted into her. His lips, searing kisses on her skin, his hands-

A sudden movement next to her made her open her eyes to see Damon sleepily pull the covers closer around him.

His hair was messy, with his mouth and cheeks flushed from sleep and it made her heart tremble.

She reached out a hand, softly stroking it over his cheek, making him stirr and eyes flutter open.

“Good morning” She whispered and smiled softly when he groaned low, closing his eyes to shield them from the light that sneaked past the blinds.

Damon hummed, eyes still closed as he reached out for her and she chuckled as she crawled into his embrace, nuzzling her face against his neck.

“Did you sleep well?” He murmured as he stroked her hair. His voice was low and hoarse from sleep, making her heart jump. It was ridiculously sexy.

“Yeah” She mumbled into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of him. His scent with a little left of yesterday's eau de cologne sent a warm current through her body, down between her thighs.

Damon drew circles with his fingertips over her back, nuzzling his nose against her hairline and inhaled.

“You talk in your sleep, did you know that?” He murmured and her eyes snapped open.

“Oh?” Was all she could muster, voice faint.

“You said Alex’s name.”

It felt as if her heart stopped and she felt her lungs tightening up with shame.

She looked up at him, and could see a slight smirk on his face.

“What?”

“You said Alex.” He repeated, stroking her cheek, his fingertips following her jaw down to her lips.

“Did I?” She felt her cheeks flush and Damon raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

“Yeah,” His thumb rubbed her lower lip as he licked his own, making her stomach summersault.

“Did you dream of him?”

She swallowed, looked away and felt the blush on her cheeks betray her.

“I don't really know. I don’t remember much.” She looked at Damon again as he kept stroking her cheek. He leaned down, their lips brushing against each others as he whispered;

“You know, I heard you moan, love. You moaned his name.”

Her breath hitched in shock but Damon caught her little gasp in a kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth and before she knew it she gripped his bicep, biting and nibbling on his lower lip.

She could feel his hard on pressing against her stomach and how his heart pounded in his chest, almost forcing hers to beat in the same rhythm. The warm tingling feeling from her dream washed over her again, and she could feel her entire ache and long for his touch.

Damon pulled away too soon, his cheeks flushed and his breath ragged as he tried to compose himself. He stroked back a stray strand of hair from her face as he cleared his throat, smiling:

“Now my love, tell me about your dream.”

She bit her lip, a stern tone in his voice that she had never heard before, and it made her heart flutter and press her thighs together.

“Well, we were kissing.” She whispered, remembering Alex’s panting breath as he kissed her.

Damon licked his lips as he leaned in, ghosting his lips above hers.

“Yeah?” His breath tickled over her cheek and it sent shivers down her spine.

“And he kissed my neck.” She moaned.

“How did it feel?”

“It felt good.”

His breath hitched, and she could feel how his cock throbbed against her, making her gasp.

“And then what?”

“He...” She blushed furiously, biting her lip and he couldn't tell if she was just playing innocent or if she was actually a bit embarrassed to say the words out loud.

Damon's breath hitched again, his pupils dilated and his heart pounding. He couldn’t understand why, but her dream turned him on so much. It sent a sting of jealousy through him, yes, but it was outweighed by the forbidden and intoxicicating thought of one of his best mates shagging his girlfriend.

“You shagged him?” He whispered barely audible, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear. The hot breath made her skin prickle and she felt her nipples harden under the shirt she wore to bed.

“Yes.” She whined, closing her eyes as he pulled up said shirt, and softly stroked his hand down her stomach.

“Did you like it?” His voice was low, and she could only moan yes as his fingers passed the lining of her underwear. His teasing, the embarrassment and excitement of him knowing about the dream, the dream itself, it was all making her clit throb.

“You liked having Alex inside you, didn’t you? You liked fucking him, didn’t you, love?”

As he almost hissed out that last question his hand dipped down between her folds.

He gasped when he felt that she was soaked and she bit back a yelp, the light pressure of his hand enough to send crackling electric currents throughout her body.

“Damon.” She whined, feeling his arms wrap around her and the way he pressed her against him made her shudder. He leaned in to kiss her, his kisses almost bruising and sloppier than before, little moans and pants escaping as she tugged at her shirt.

He pulled down her undies, throwing them across the room which earned a giggle from her as they landed on the table lamp on the desk.

“Get these off!” She groaned and tugged on his boxers, her mouth watering when she saw his cock twitch through the fabric. God he was so hard.

“As you wish,” He smirked and pulled them down. A low smacking sound as his heavy hard on hit his abdomen made her bite her lip in anticipation. For a few seconds all she could do was stare at him where he laid, naked and on display for her.

“Stop staring.” He groaned, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, and she giggled, crawling up to him and he immediately pulled her close to him, his lips crashing onto hers.

She moaned into his mouth, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth as she felt his hand stroke down her naked body, pushing her onto his back.

“Did he make you this wet?” he murmured against her lips, as his fingers trailed down between her legs to lightly brush over her throbbing clit.

Between little breathy moans she managed to get out;

“No, it’s you.”

He lightly pressed his finger against her clit again, making her quiver. The ache was unbearable.

“I need you in me.” She begged and looked up at him with hazy eyes.

He looked at her, her lips swollen and glistening with saliva and if he hadn’t been so eager to be inside her, fucking her senseless until she forgot about that dream, and about Alex of all bloody people, he would’ve loved to see those lips around his cock.

Slowly he pushed a finger into her, making her suck in a sharp breath he teased;

“Like this?”

She couldn’t form an answer, her mind went completely blank and without noticing she whimpered his name. He watched her flutter shut and then close completely when he pushed in another finger, wanting to hear her make that deliciously needy moan again.

Slowly pumped them in and out, looking at her as he did and felt his cock twitch as he saw her bite her lip in an attempt to suppress a loud moan.

His mouth brushed against the shell of her ear and sent tickling shivers through her. Just as she let out a shaky moan he pulled out his fingers, making her whine at the loss of contact and she was just about to loudly complain when he pressed them to her clit instead, rubbing firm but slow circles.

“Oh God” she clutched her hand behind his neck, feeling his hot breath on her face as he laughed softly. He nibbled on her lip and chin as he continued to rub harder and faster.

The room was filled with sounds of his kisses, her wetness, their heavy breathing and her loud sob like moans.

She rocked her hips against his fingers, her moans getting louder and needier and god she was so close that she clawed his neck, she could feel herself tense up, cunt aching for the release. A mental image of Alex on top of her, deep in her as he groaned flashed by, but then her eyes fluttered open as Damon moaned when she squelched over his fingers.

She was millimeters from the edge when he suddenly stopped. With cheeks flushed and breath stuck in her throat she almost screamed:

“Wh-, what the fuck Damon, why did you stop?”

God she was so beautiful like this. Animalistic almost and completely unhinged.

“Do you want me to continue?”

“Yes!”

He tapped his finger against her clit again and smiled when she threw her head back and moaned.

“Ask for it.” He whispered and that alone was almost enough to make her cum.

“Please Damon, please, let me cum.”

Almost instantly he resumed rubbing her clit, making her back arch and she cried out his name over and over, so close that she forgot every other word. All she could think of was him, him, him.

“Damon!”

Her cries and moans made his breath hitch as he saw how she came undone for him and he groaned between clenched teeth;

“Cum for me.” And she did.

With a moan that was almost a scream she fell apart and became a blabbering, whimpering mess in his hands. She sobbed his name, head spinning and heart pounding so loud in her ears she could barely hear him whispering her name

He stroked slowly but firmly over her clit until she pushed his hand away, her voice quivering as she let out a broken whisper;

“I can’t-, I can’t do another.” Making him chuckle and through her foggy brain she could muster a weak smile.

Damon looked at her where she lay with her tendrils of hair clinging to her forehead, a slight sheen of sweat covering her chest and her cheeks blossoming with a deep crimson blush.

“Was that good?”

She chuckled, still not sure how to get back to breathing normally and smiled;

“Do you really have to ask?”

Leaning in until their lips brushed and his breath tickled he teased;

“I just wanted to hear you say it.” before licking her lips and kissing her.

She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and suddenly the flame she thought had been doused started flickering. Acting on instinct she bit his lower lip, hard, making him gasp and she wondered if maybe she had been too harsh when he pulled away, his eyes huge but then a smirk formed on his perfect lips.

Rising on shaky elbows she laughed as she said;

“Don’t you wanna finish?” tilting her head to her side.

“Looks like you might need it.” She nodded towards his cock, dripping precum, red and swollen. The warm pooling in her stomach threatened to scorch her when he raised a brow, stroking himself and inching closer to her.

“You think so?”

Biting her lip she nodded, opening her trembling legs and looking him up and down. He pulled her down to him, making her gasp as she fell on her back and then giggled at his sudden roughness. He looked at her, his pupils blown out and his chest falling and rising as he gripped her thigh hard.

Slapping the head of his cock against her clit he hissed and she bit back a whimper, feeling herself tremble in his grasp. She was a bit sore from her earlier orgasm but it didn’t matter as he slowly pushed into her, both of them gasping.

“Fuuuck” He groaned, feeling her clench around him and she shuddered at the slight over stimulation.

“You okay?” He panted and stroked her hips, pulling her down onto him slowly.

“Uh-huh.” She hummed before adding; “Please.”

Her quivering voice, dripping with lust and pleading eyes made him snap. There was nothing he wanted as much as making her scream his name again, begging and moaning, only this time she would be dripping all over him.

He moaned, wrapping his arm under her hips and hoisting her up so that he could thrust into her at whatever pace he pleased.

“Please.” She whispered again, her hands on his back, clawing.

Damon's hips snapped up, the pace he set was hard and unforgiving and with each thrust she whimpered loudly.

He couldn’t think of anything else but how her body moved with his, the sweat covering them both, her whining and moaning and how much he loved her.

“Oh fuckin’ hell, you feel so good, fuck” He moaned, leaning in to kiss her. It was a sloppy kiss, their lips barely touching as he sped up his thrusts.

She reached up, carding her fingers through his flaxen of hair and tugging on it slightly, making him moan and bend his neck back. Knowing he couldn’t hold it for long he closed his eyes and focused on her gasping breaths, the smell of sex, the wet slapping noises and the burning sensation in his stomach.

“Cum in me” She moaned, her breath hitching when Damon leaned his forehead against her shoulder, his breath tickling over her neck and she raked her nails down his back.

His breaths got shorter and shorter, his thighs tensing up, the warm coil in his abdomen burning, and when she locked her legs on his lower back, pushing him deeper in, he came. His mind went blank as he thrust into her, making the orgasm last as long as possible and she kissed his ear, nibbling at it and whispering:

“I love you” over and over.

With a moan and a string of profanities he relaxed, shuddering and with heavy breaths.

She stroked his back, trying to slow down her racing heart and erratic breathing. She didn’t know how long he laid there, nuzzling his face to her neck as his breathing slowly became normal again, but she enjoyed every second of it.

Carefully he pushed himself up on his elbows, smiling slightly and running a hand through her messy hair.

“Well, good morning to you too.” She said and smiled up at him, stroking his arm softly.

“Good morning indeed. Wanna join me in the shower?”

“Yes please.”

He leaned in to kiss her, muttering, “I love you” which made her heart jump. Before pulling away completely he added with a cheeky grin:

“So for the next round I’ll call in Alex?”

“Damon!”

#damon albarn x reader #damon albarn smut #damon albarn x y/n #alex james x reader #blur imagine #blur band #britpop imagine #britpop fic #hysterikan.text

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